


The Bare Arms of Trees

by stilastarla



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series, 悪魔城ドラキュラX 月下の夜想曲 | Castlevania: Symphony of the Night
Genre: Adrian needs a friend, Adrian needs some love!, Blood Bond, F/M, Fluff, Healing, Lotsa emotional drama, Non canonical after season 2, Reader is a Hunter, Romance, Season 3 blocked and ignored, Some adventure, humour--I hope, potty-mouthed reader, sprinklings of star-crossed lovers, vampire romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 86,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23106346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilastarla/pseuds/stilastarla
Summary: You show up at the Belmont estate, hoping to find your distant cousin, Trevor Belmont. Instead, you find a dhampir who insists the whole place is his. Of course you don’t believe him. And no, you won’t leave.
Relationships: Alucard (Castlevania)/Reader, Alucard (Castlevania)/You, Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Reader, Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/You
Comments: 691
Kudos: 1305





	1. Are you a Belmont?

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own anything but the plot and OC. If you like this, please let me know! Also, in my mind, Season 3 never happened.

“Hello!” You hollered, knocking as loudly on the door as your strength would permit. Frankly, after months of travelling, weeks of sleuthing and following trails of destruction which meant interviewing traumatised survivors, you had finally tracked down your stupid arsehole of a cousin, whom you dearly loved but disagreed with concerning his life’s ambition to be nothing more than a drunkard. “To think it might have ended where it all began,” you muttered, caught up in your thoughts for a minute. As a Morris, you too were well-versed in the lore of night creatures and you were as good as you were ever going to get when it came to fighting skills. Unlike the Belmonts, your particular branch of the Morris clan favoured dual wielding, which was why you always carried a very sharp sword, an equally sharp dagger and two spares in each boot. 

“Hello!” You shouted again, then kicked the door in frustration. “Who the fuck owns this decrepit and frankly creepy looking castle anyway? The architect must have been blind when he designed it.” It was a strange thing though, a wonder in its own terrible way and you didn’t have to keep touching the structure to know it simmered with strange energy. ‘Magic,’ you thought. Swallowing hard, you rubbed the back of your hand against your cheek, hoping you didn’t smudge the dirt on your face further. It had been three days since your last bath and if you could, you would have shed your skin and grown a new one. ‘So much for a hot bath and meal.’ Those were the least of your concerns though; there was no way of knowing if your knucklehead younger cousin had survived hunting Dracula. You knew the undead bastard had finally been put down, otherwise his forces would have continued rampaging through the lands. And after scouting the area, you couldn’t find any graves or rotting human corpses. If anyone could survive this, it would be Trevor… ‘Still….’ You had already lost a lot of family. You didn’t want to lose him. 

Sighing heavily, you wandered back to Belmont Manor. A cold wind descended, the first harbinger of evening and you couldn’t help but shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself. Looking over your shoulder, you saw the sun, now a rich orange less stinging to the eyes, settling between the ugly tower tops of the strange castle that had somehow landed near Trevor’s family home. Maybe it was the travelling. Maybe it was the worrying. Maybe it was the lack of food or the worrying suspicion that because you and Trevor were genetically related, his propensity for stupidity had finally awakened in your braincells. “Fuck me! That’s Dracula’s castle!” The wind carried your words away towards the ugly building. 

Once you remembered to shut your mouth, you marched forward towards the broken-down manor. It wasn’t so bad, you told yourself. Sure, much of the structure had been burned to cinders and time and the weather were not kind to weak stones or scorched structures. But not all of the roof had caved in and some of the towers were still standing and—if you looked at them in a very positive light—still quite whole. You would have somewhere sheltered to stay for tonight. Somewhere with a narrow winding staircase as its only entrance and exit. The good news was that you wouldn’t be ambushed from behind, as had been the case several times when you had been forced to sleep beneath a tree. The bad news was that if you couldn’t defeat whatever it was that came crawling up, you were dead meat. 

Passing carved stone fences, you quickened your pace, aware that you had less than two hours before the sun completely faded. And you would need a fire. Which meant gathering fire wood. And you needed food; that morning you had finished your last bread roll which had begun turning more green than white and brown. All those worries flew out of your head however when you saw the great huge hole, like a gaping mouth, within the grounds of the manor. Your heart stopped beating and before you knew it you were standing at the edge, knuckles white because one hand was clenched so tightly you cut your palms with your nails. The other was wrapped around the hilt of your blade. Your parents had told you, since you could understand, about the fabled Hold, the Belmont library where hundreds of years of knowledge, spells, lore, and even weaponry were stored. It was protected, they had told you, by a nigh unbreakable spell. “Oh fucking hell,” you swore, mind spinning wildly. Anything could have gone in; anything could have been removed. And what was that….it was rather dark below but some of the sun’s rays had not entirely exited the pit and there was just enough of them glancing off the side to shed some light below. You could make out a huge shadowy form. And from below you caught the whiff of a very familiar stench. Your eyes bulged; in your head, alarm bells clanged. Panic and anger roiled in your chest, smashing together to come out of your mouth in an explosive shout. “Trevor! Trevor! Are you down there? Fucking hell! What the fuck is a demon corpse doing in the fucking Hold?” 

You always swore when you got panicked. Or angry. Or drunk. You would never tell a living soul but it was you who had introduced the word “fuck” to Trevor, who had taken to it almost as well as you had. “Trevor!” All that came back was the sound of your own voice, splitting into thin echoes, vanishing like ghosts. And the spiral staircase was completely destroyed. “Shit, shit.” You chewed your lip so hard you tasted copper. A wild glance around showed no ropes at hand and if any were found, you wouldn’t trust them; the Manor had been deserted for years. “I’m going to have to climb down.” And God help you if you were halfway down there and something came shooting out of the darkness. You were a good fighter and on special occasions, an exceptional one but you doubted that you could actually fight anything while clinging onto unstable wooden remains. It was stupid and dangerous. But you had to find out if Trevor was down there. “I can’t fucking believe this,” you muttered, getting down on your knees to find the best spot to begin.

“Neither can I.” 

The voice was sharp and elegant, replete with a cut-glass accent only the very rich could afford because they could afford to pay for such an education. It was fairly deep, silky even. It was also coming from behind and you hadn’t heard a single sound though your senses had been on high alert. These thoughts were subconscious, streaming through your mind as background noise because at the sound of the first word, you had spun around. Three small throwing knives whipped through the air. Those were just the distraction; you were going to follow up with your blade firmly in hand. Or at least that was the plan until the golden-haired stranger, his blond locks blazing like fire beneath the sun’s light, simply stepped to the side and evaded the knives. It wasn’t that which gave you pause. It was the very slender and extremely wicked looking blade floating at his side. “What the fuck—” Your own blade came flashing out. 

The stranger gleamed red, then vanished in a trail of silhouettes too quick for you to follow. You stepped back, tensing for a leap. And remembered the gaping pit behind you. That second of hesitation sealed your fate. Long, inhumanly strong fingers grasped you by the throat and lifted you off your feet so that the toes of your boots barely brushed the ground. Another hand was clamped around the wrist holding your sword. A smell like wine and the last roses of summer filled your nostrils which flared as lion-like amber eyes and a face as fine and pale as carved porcelain and marble drowned your vision. So this was how you died: killed by some inhumanely beautiful monster in the shape of a man who somehow could move under the sun’s light. 

He dragged you closer. He opened his mouth to speak. You caught the flash of sharp pointed fangs and did the first thing that came to mind. With all the force you could muster, your knee slammed home and smashed the beautiful man right in his balls. He didn’t so much as flinch. That’s when you knew you were definitely going to die. 

“Tell me,” he spoke, sounding completely bored and utterly impervious to the fear and loathing on your face, “are you a Belmont?”


	2. Goldilocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have some free time, I am on a roll and very encouraged by your responses! Thanks to everyone who left kudos and comments because you helped push this second chapter out.

“Fuck off,” you croaked. The fingers around your throat tightened. 

“You certainly sound like one.” That slender aristocratic nose sniffed and if you hadn’t been in danger of dying, you probably would have admired its beauty, which looked as if it belonged in the workshop of a master craftsman. “Smell like one too.”

“Fuck you.” You were lifted another inch off the ground. Grabbing onto the wrist of the person choking off your air supply was mere instinct, nothing to be ashamed off. When you tried digging your nails into his skin, he raised a perfect golden eyebrow. 

“No thank you,” he replied with mock politeness. “I would rather my paramours be clean and presentable, at the very least.” 

“Wasn’t…actually…offering,” you gritted out. The sentence “just kill me and be done with it” might have followed, had you had enough breath. Maybe the sun-resistant vampire was going to strangle you first before he drank your blood. Then a thought entered your oxygen-starved brain and your eyes bulged. Was this vampire Dracula? But Dracula was not resistant to the sun! He could be. Could he?

Perfect lips parted. A long sigh emerged. Then you were sent sailing through the air to land on your side. A sharp ache went up your shoulder, your turned on your belly, coughing yet trying to inhale as deeply as possible. Your sword was missing. With watering eyes, you glared at the creature. Air whistled beside your ear and you went very still because something very cold and sharp kissed the skin at your temple. You couldn’t see it but you would have bet your last coin that it was that floating sword. “Shit,” you hissed under your breath. 

The man who had thrown you with frightening ease was now facing you. Finally, you spotted a flaw in all that beauty. He was wearing the most ridiculous shirt. It was so thin you could see the outline of lean muscles beneath. Also, the neckline of that shirt was lower than the neckline of any garment you had ever worn. ‘Who the fuck dresses like that?’ you scoffed. Inwardly of course, because the instinct to live was stronger than the desire to mouth off and die from being stabbed in the head by a magical sword. 

“I could have killed you when you were walking over here. I could have kicked you over the edge of the Hold. I could have crushed your throat just a moment before. So be sensible.”

“If that’s your strange way of trying to assure me that I’m actually safe with you, it’s not working.” Fuck, your mouth had a life and will of its own. 

“I didn’t say you were safe. I only made clear that I haven’t used any of those opportune moments to kill you. Yet.” His eyes were lined with the thickest, lushest eyelashes you had ever seen. Women would have killed to have lashes—and hair—like that. But it only highlighted the coldness in those amber eyes which hadn’t blinked from the moment you met them. You had probably wielded steel warmer than those eyes. “Now, let’s begin again.” 

You tried not to wince as a light sting blossomed over your skin. The sword had pressed closer by a hair’s breadth. 

“Are you a Belmont?”

Quickly you considered your options. If you kept quiet, your brains would be on the ground. If you lied, you had a feeling he would know and your brains would still be on the ground. If you told him the truth... you lowered your eyes, tried not to show how that last one worried you. Your parents could take care of themselves, you knew that. And right now, they were staying with relatives, most of whom shared the same monster-killing stock you were descended from. Still, who would expect a vampire to walk up in broad daylight? They might never even see that sword coming. “I’m not a Belmont. I’m related to Trevor. I assume you’ve met him.”

You waited for a cruel smile to twist those fine lips. Waited for some kind of mocking laughter. Waited to see if this creature had been your cousin’s undoing. Instead, he merely tilted his head a little. How that made his hair shimmer even more, you couldn’t explain. 

“An answer and a non-answer at the same time. At least you seem to have some level of intelligence.” The shadow of a smile crossed his face slowly when he met your glare, seemed to bask in its heat. “How are you related to Belmont?”

Well, looks like you weren’t the only one handing out answers and non-answers. You still had no idea what this vampire had done with the last son of the Belmont Clan. “We’re cousins.”

“What’s your name?” 

You told him your first name, the attributes of which you had not been endowed with, despite your mother’s fervent prayers. You were neither gentle nor patient nor long suffering. 

“Your family name,” he insisted by way of letting his sword slant into your field of vision, the sharp point never leaving your skin. 

“Morris,” you growled finally. The man said nothing but you could sense his smugness at having forced the answer from you. “Are you in the habit of knowing the names of your victims?”

“Are you in the habit of assaulting a man in his own home?”

Your gasp was sharp and your reply sharper. “You fucking liar! This is the Belmont family home and it certainly does not fucking belong to your kind. You may have killed Trevor but this does not make a single stone here yours.”

The last thing you expected was for the vampire to let out a soft chuckle. “I did not kill your cousin.” The cold touch of metal left your temple; the sword was now floating between you and the creature. “And he really did bequeath this estate to me.”

Slowly, you got to your feet. Maybe this was some weird game the vampire was indulging in before he tried to kill and eat you. Who knew? Some of them lived too long and life had gotten too boring. There was no end to the depth of a bored vampire’s depravity. “I’m sure he did. The last descendent and heir of a famous monster-hunting clan—who conveniently is not around to verify your claim—decides to leave what remains of his inheritance to you. A fucking vampire. Who likely stays in that fucking ugly travesty of a castle over there which I suspect is Dracula’s. Because the last I heard, my cousin was off hunting Dracula with a red-headed lady magician. So are you him? Dracula? What the fuck did you do with my cousin?”

The sword cut the air, danced closer to you. All traces of humour were wiped from the vampire’s face and if possible, he looked even colder than when you had first set eyes on him. “Belmont,” he pronounced with sharp emphasis, “was indeed hunting Dracula but with two companions. One was a Speaker and gifted magician, Sypha Belnades. The other was a dhampir, the offspring of a human woman and a vampire, born with a mix of their abilities. Thankfully, he inherited his mother’s ability to walk in daylight. I will also have you know that their hunt was…successful.”

Bending with fluid grace, he picked your sword up from off the ground and tossed it to you. You snatched it out of the air, jaw clenched. You didn’t believe a word he said; you weren’t going to lower your guard. You had already worked out Dracula’s death for yourself. What you really wanted, which was Trevor’s whereabouts, was still missing. Then you remembered an eyewitness, the only eyewitness to have insisted Trevor had been with two companions. But the man, whom you had found in a tavern and who smelled equally of beer and piss had said… “I had been told Trevor might have been travelling with two people. But the witness said that it was two women!”

It might have been the light. But you could have sworn the vampire’s face reddened. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yes,” you insisted. “Two women. One was a petite redhead and the other an unusually tall woman whom, I was also informed, was as beautiful as the moon, slender as a willow, and wore a very…” Your eyes went to his neckline. “A very low-cut blouse.” Your gaze travelled up again. Ah, definitely not the sun. The vampire’s face was a shade that could only be described as rosy. “She also had the most stunning golden hair the witness had ever seen.” A sly grin you couldn’t quite suppress tugged up the corners of your mouth. “I see I might have been too quick to dismiss that person’s account.” You pretended to squint. “Although your breasts aren’t quite as lovely as he insisted they were.” 

“Enough!” The vampire—dhampir—was that even an official term—growled. “I’ve given your sword back to you and you may keep your life as well. You are Belmont’s relative and that is the only reason why I have endured your presence, not to mention the fact that I could smell you from within the castle, thus far. Now get off my property.”

“No,” you growled back. “If, as you say, Trevor gifted this whole place to you, then where the hell is he?”

“I don’t know.” The dhampir had the gall to sound nonplussed. “He left with Sypha.”

“How fucking convenient. You don’t fucking know. I suppose I’ll just leave now, since you asked so fucking nicely.” 

The way he narrowed his eyes at you was reminiscent of the mountain lions you had encountered in the course of your travels. The sword returned to his hand. “I would strongly caution you against showing more foolishness than you already have. My goodwill towards your cousin extends to him alone, not his idiotic blood relations.” 

He thought you were going to attack him. To be fair, you had been contemplating it until the moment where he claimed he was one of Trevor’s companions. That corresponded with the drunkard’s account…up to a point. That had planted a seed of doubt. Just a small one. A really tiny one. But enough to give you pause. Though if the dhampir wanted to attack you, you were going to give as good as you got. 

“I’m not leaving. You won’t tell me where Trevor is—”an exasperated sigh and slight eye-rolling from him accompanied your words— “and I certainly don’t believe your fucking claim to this whole place.” It was preposterous, really. A vast majority of the Hold’s repository was focused on wiping out vampires. Trevor, no matter how stupid he had been in the past, would never leave all those secrets to be read by a vampire. Or half-vampire. ‘Not even if said half-vampire did help him kill Dracula?’ an unpleasant tinny voice sounded at the back of your mind. You promptly squashed it. Trevor could be an idiot but he wasn’t a fool. “I’ll just wait here until he comes back.” 

“No you aren’t.”

“Yes I am.”

“No. You. are. not.” Sharp fangs protruded slightly from that shapely mouth. Honestly, you were beginning understand how that drunkard might have mistaken him for a woman. Not that he looked in the least bit feminine right now. That chest was entirely too muscled, as were his arms, since the wind was blowing once more and plastering that stupid thin shirt to his body. Were those muscles on his stomach too? It was so fucking unfair. You trained everyday and your stomach muscles would never be that well-defined. 

“What are you gonna do?” It occurred to you that this was the longest conversation you had ever had with a bloodsucker. “You already made clear that you won’t kill me.” He didn’t say a word but the cold emanating from him cut the air between the both of you. “Even if by some chance you manhandle me off this place, I’ll find my way back, thanks to that ugly gigantic landmark. You don’t even live here anyway.” You gestured carelessly at the Manor. “So I’ll just wait until my cousin shows up.” And if he verified what the dhampir said, you were going to take that blasted whip of his and peel the strips off his thick hide. But that would never happen, you quickly assured yourself. In all likelihood, Trevor would affirm that the estate was still firmly ensconced in the bosom of the Belmont Clan. And then the two of you would hatch a plan on how to ship all the Hold’s contents to some safe place. 

You gloated visibly then and realised you might have provoked the dhampir too much because he actually took a step forward. Adjusting your grip on the blade, you too shifted your stance. “Come the fuck on then.”

For a moment, you honestly thought he was going to lunge. Then he stopped, blinked, and immediately that beautifully bored mask slipped back on. “I am not in the habit of brawling with demented infants. Stupidity, I find, could actually be infectious.”

“Well, fuck you too!”

“Thank you for that demonstration, which proves my point.” And then he levitated off the ground. You were very proud of the fact that you didn’t so much as move a muscle at that display. “Very well then, stay with the wild birds and beasts in the Manor. If night creatures come and in the morning I find your bones, know that I won’t feel any guilt. You brought this on yourself.” Then he turned away and actually showed his back to you.

“You’re just afraid that Trevor will come back and you’ll be exposed as a liar!” you shouted after his floating form. “And what’s your name huh? Usurper? Property stealer?” Inspiration struck you, or rather, the memory of that interview with the besotted drunk. “Goldilocks?” 

That got a reaction. He glanced back over his shoulder, not entirely, but enough for his side profile to be illuminated in the rich crimson glow of the sun. Then he continued on his way. You scowled. “Goldilocks it is then,” you said aloud, knowing full well that he could still hear you. You stood there, waiting until he entered those massive doors which slammed shut after him. Looking at how low the sun was, you groaned aloud. You still had firewood to find and food to catch. 

It was going to be a long hard night.


	3. The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did forget this: the title of this fic, which is meant to be all light and fluff, is taken from one of my favourite poems. Also, since I made the mistake of watching Season 3, I am basing some of this story on Adrian's reactions to the Duo-who-shall-not-be-named and his psychological and emotional state as portrayed in the series. Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I did writing it!  
> ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It rained that night. Hard. Unforgiving. Droplets as big as long as his forefinger smashed against the windowpanes by the thousands. Adrian stood there, eyeing the small light coming from one of the towers at Belmont Manor. He knew you were in there. Raising a hand, he drew the tips of his fingers over the glass and realised just how cold it was out there. He wondered if the cold was sufficient to penetrate that thick skull of yours and send you packing the moment the weather cleared. Somehow, he doubted that. You and Trevor looked nothing alike, yet in so many ways you reminded Adrian of him. So much so that he had been restless the entire evening. Even his usual ritual of preparing dinner had done little to sooth him. He had been so distracted that he had chopped twice as many vegetables as he had needed and cooked the lot before realising that it was far too much. And because one did not waste, as his mother always firmly insisted, he had obediently sat down and swallowed every single mouthful. The little Trevor and Sypha dolls he had placed on the small shelf facing the dining table stared back at him. 

He should have gone with them. He had made a mistake staying. That thought, which had started as a single one drifting through his consciousness and now morphed into a constant refrain as the days got longer, came back like a figurative punch in the gut. Guilt followed immediately after, guilt that he wanted to go with his friends, guilt that he was showing more loyalty to them than the memory of the man who had raised him. Within these walls, memory throbbed, a living thing. He had sat on his father’s knee; he recalled turning pages with mysterious words, a warm soothing voice and the gentle weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder as Vlad Dracula Tepes read to his only son. That was the man he had known, though the rest of the world would never. His mother was gone and the only one left to honour the memory of the man who had been, the man who could have been, his mother’s greatest and most ambitious project, was Adrian Tepes and he was bound to this place, for good or ill. 

Thunder roared, lightning cracked the sky open for one blinding moment. Adrian surfaced from his thoughts and when he saw his reflection, for a second he saw the ghost of his father silhouetted over it. Heart leaping in his chest, he spun. Only to see empty space and the shining lights out in a corridor he knew was perfectly empty as it was long and lonely. “I’m losing my mind,” he muttered. Unbidden, the memory of sitting in his father’s chair, wishing some remnant of warmth remained, crying helplessly before the portrait of his mother because loneliness this time was not just healing in exile and being estranged from his only kin. Loneliness was knowing he was all alone in this world, that Trevor and Sypha had gone and somehow taken something he could not yet measure the worth of with them. In that moment, he had been filled with anger that they had just left him without realising that. In that moment, he hated himself for being too weak to have followed. 

Through the rain, he focused on the light of your fire in the tower. If he really concentrated, he could see that most of the roof remained intact. Despite the wind, the glow of the flames remained steady. Either you had been incredibly lucky or you had constructed some kind of barricade to protect the fire. Jealousy stabbed him. He had meant the first sentence he had spoken to you that late afternoon. He had really watched in disbelief as you lowered yourself to the ground, hands already over the edge as you felt for a safe spot to grip onto so that you could climb that great distance down and probably die from falling. All that without even knowing for certain if Trevor was down there. What was that but love born from strong bonds? You would risk death for your cousin. Adrian could only hope, more fervently than he dared let himself feel, that someone would do that for him—Sypha and Trevor were the only ones he could reasonably think of. There was no one else. 

Impatiently, he turned from the window, tried to push those melancholy thoughts away, even strode out of the room, spine ramrod straight, legs moving with a purpose and conviction that were respectively false and empty. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do. He passed rooms filled with rubble, fallen books wearing coats of dust, carpets with water stains. It had already been a month but he could not bring himself to continue his initial efforts at cleaning up the place. For who? For what?

Oh God. He had told his father that he had died when his wife had died. Adrian felt a chill in his blood that had absolutely nothing to do with the raging storm outside. Had he died when his father had died? Trevor had repositioned everything as an inheritance, something to be used for the betterment of society. He had been filled with a dream then. Everything Dracula had destroyed, Alucard would repair. How stupid he felt now, how inept. Crushed by the weight of a grief that he had barely processed, the grief for his mother which had been pushed aside in his quest to stop his father, and then his father because said quest had succeeded. 

Somehow, Adrian found himself at another window, one that yet overlooked Belmont Manor. He knew it was not a coincidence that he had set up quarters in the castle wing overlooking it. He stood at that window the entire night, staring at the lone light shining, even when the storm abated and a weak watery sun came struggling up over the horizon. Then he went down to make breakfast for himself, simply because it was something to do. Pheasant eggs which he had found in the forest made a decent-sized omelette, accompanied by wild onions and peppers. He ate everything without tasting it. His eyes landed on the Trevor doll and for a moment, he imagined the real Trevor, glaring at him. 

“Really Alucard, really? My cousin shows up and you leave her out in the family home to drown like a rat in a storm?”

“The rain will do her good, Belmont. At least she’ll finally get a cleansing and half the forest won’t be able to smell her.”

“Fuck you Alucard.”

“Likewise, Belmont.” 

That imaginary exchange drew a smile from Adrian’s lips before the realisation that he was having in essence, having a conversation with himself, eradicated all merriment he felt. Damn it, he really was going crazy. He had to get out of this place. He had to. The sound of chair legs scraping harshly against the floor rang in his ears. The walls passed in a dizzying blur. At his will, the doors crashed open. And Adrian burst into the sunlight, staggered to a stop, and finally felt his lungs stop squeezing in on themselves. Hands braced on his knees, he waited until the last vestiges of what he guessed might have been a panic attack passed before straightening up. His nose wrinkled. There was mud on his boots. There was mud everywhere. The trees themselves glistened and their leaves were a pristine green, heavily beaded with fat water droplets, as was the grass. Everything else though, was mud. Then Adrian perked up his eyes, cocking his head to the side. The sound was barely audible; he could only hear it by virtue of the stillness of the morning, for the storm had sent all the animals into hiding and he couldn’t detect anything stirring in the undergrowth.

Someone was singing in the distance. Well, singing was an exaggeration. Adrian had heard flocks of seagulls squalling at harbours that sounded more harmonious. This wasn’t a bunch birds fighting over fish though. You were singing, loudly, merrily and horribly. This time, he didn’t need to contemplate a course of action, as he had yesterday when you had so rudely banged on his door before delivering your scathing verdict on the aesthetic of his current home. 

Levitating himself, Adrian headed in the direction of the off-key yowling. At least today, as was the case the day before, there would be something else to do. And you, for the moment, were more appealing than breakfast because you would serve up a very badly needed distraction. Not that he would ever confess as much. If only for a while, he needed to forget. 

***

Surprisingly, the night had not been as horrible and terrible as you had imagined it to be. While gathering firewood, you had found a pair of rabbits in the undergrowth. At first you thought they had been humping, only to realise they were fighting. Two throwing knives put an end to that and you emerged the victor with two plump carcasses for dinner and breakfast. Poking about the manor had yielded some empty barrels, a couple of sacks with no worse than dust and some dirt on them, mouldy paper which you figured you could add to the fire. Given the grey clouds gathering at that time, you had cleaned the barrels out as best you could before leaving them lined up against what had once been the great hall. Your wisdom in doing so was now richly rewarded. You had drinking water, water for cooking, and most importantly, water for bathing. 

Dragging one barrel along with you, you chose an area where most of the walls were still standing so that you had some privacy. Folding one dry sack on the least damp spot you could find, you placed your spare clothes on it before shucking off your present outfit, which you intended to wash once you had bathed yourself. It was obscenely cold that morning, as was the water. Still, for someone who hadn’t slept much at all the night before, you couldn’t complain and in fact, were feeling downright cheerful. Your belly was full, you had managed to spend the night relatively dry and warm, and despite your suspicions, Goldilocks had not shown up like a spectre in the dead of night to turn you into supper. Life, for the moment, was good.

Soaking a rag, you heaved an audible sigh of relief as you began scrubbing days of dirt, sweat and grime away—such were the lesser perils of life on the road. Before you were quite aware of it, you had started humming a tune before the words formed on your lips and the next thing you knew, you were singing. It was a silly ditty about the dangers of fucking mythical creatures because it produced unwanted hybrid offspring. Some bard had been singing it in a tavern and both you and Trevor had been drunk yet lucid enough to learn the lyrics. In terms of content, it had all the substance of dried straw. But tavern tunes were meant to be catchy, above all else, and this one was especially so because those silly lines were part of its charm. 

You were so busy singing that you didn’t realise Goldilocks had come to pay you a visit until he spoke directly from behind the wall where you were washing. “Why on earth are you singing about a fishmonger’s daughter wanting to have sex with a puck?”

You screamed and did the first thing which came to mind. On hindsight, it was not all that intelligent. You should have grabbed your sword, which had been lying upright against the wall. You might have grabbed the throwing knives that had been left atop your pile of dirty clothes. Instead, you leapt into the barrel, which was fortunately large enough for you to hide in. The downside was, you were now up to your neck in cold rainwater. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you yelled so loudly that nearby, a flock of birds screamed and took flight overhead. 

Goldilocks appeared within view then, floating as always through the air like some diamond snowflake aloft on the wind. The bastard was openly smirking. “This is my home. I may go anywhere I please at any given time.” He looked you up and down. “And if that’s how you like your baths, your hide must be thicker than I had imagined.”

You clenched your jaw, if only to stop your teeth from chattering. “Get the fuck out of here. Now.”

“Or you’ll what? Throw water at me?” Golden eyes gleamed teasingly. “I doubt it’s been blessed so it isn’t going to do any harm. To me, at least. You might suffer some embarrassment.”

You were naked in a barrel of water trying to preserve your modesty from the dhampir before you. You were so far beyond embarrassment and well into the land of utter humiliation. If your glare could have incinerated him, Goldilocks would have been turned into a shining ash pile at least thrice over. “Bloodsucking arsehole. I hate you.”

“Sticks and stones won’t break my bones,” he said airily. 

“Thanks for the tip. I’ll try chains and whips then.” A violent shiver tore through you and you bit down hard on your lower lip to suppress the gasp caught in your throat. “If you’re here for a fight, at least have the decency to let me get dressed first.”

“How ironic. You kneeing me in the groin yesterday was neither decent nor classy.”

You took back your earlier sentiment about life being good. You had been horribly naïve to have thought that. “Are you really going to argue about decency and class with a naked woman you snuck up on while she was bathing?” Even to your own ears, you sounded exasperated. “Or is that just an excuse to be a pervert?” you snapped. 

Of all things, that genuinely seemed to surprise him. He floated back by several inches. He looked aside, golden hair sliding down like a thick veil to partially block his face. “Put your clothes on before you freeze. Or don’t.” Then he sniffed the air, thin nostrils flaring. A moment later, he smiled. “Is that roasted rabbit I smell?” 

Ignoring your outraged curses and threats of bodily harm, he floated away again, leaving you to scramble out of the bath. After dragging your clean clothes on, you grabbed your weapons and ran for the tower, taking two steps at a time. To your embarrassment, you were panting when you got to the top but your outrage at the sight of him nibbling on a piece of meat, held daintily on a skewer, was more than enough to drown it. His eyes though, rounded slightly at the sight of you. 

“Thief.”

“Squatter.”

“Is there no food in that clunky home of yours that you have to come here and steal mine?”

His response was to pop the rabbit meat into his mouth, lips slick with the sheen of oil. When he licked them clean, it reminded you of every feline you had ever seen. “What would I have to offer you to make you leave this place?”

“Your head on a pike,” you rumbled, thought it lacked venom. Moving forward, you removed the rabbit from the makeshift spit you had set up. He tensed a little, but when you backed away, he relaxed. 

“That might actually upset your cousin.”

“I don’t care.” Tearing off a huge piece of meat, you stuffed it gracelessly into your mouth. You were cold, half-wet with your hair in a damp mess about your shoulders and your shirt and pants clinging to you like a second skin in all the wrong places. You could do whatever the hell you wanted, Goldilocks be damned. “And I think you’re lying. There’s no way that Trevor would make friends with the likes of you.”

“Because half of me is vampiric in nature?” he asked with deceptive casualness. 

Between the Belmonts and Morrises, you could count less than three on one hand at the present moment that wouldn’t kill a vampire on sight. “No,” you said bluntly, stuffing more rabbit into your mouth. “Because you are the bastard that left his dirty, tired and hungry cousin out in the mother of all storms when you have a clean, albeit hideous, roof over your own head.” 

“You said you wanted to stay here.”

You blinked rapidly at him. Damn it, you had said as much. Fuck. “That shouldn’t stop you from making an offer. It would have been the decent thing to do.”

“If I had, would you have accepted?” 

Pausing in mid-chew, you studied him. “No. That is Dracula’s castle after all. And you are a—”

“Vampire.”

“Stranger.” 

Your gazes met and for some reason, your heart skipped a beat. Not in fear though. Not entirely at least. For that amber gaze holding yours somehow seemed a little less glacial. You only realised you were staring when Goldilocks got to his feet in one swift fluid movement that would have made water envious. “Hmm.” There it was again, the irritating head tilt that made his hair shimmer and which gave the impression that he was scrutinising you. 

“What?” It was probably dirt on your face again. You were sure you had missed a spot. 

“You should bathe more often. I admit, I was rather uncharitable yesterday.”

“Oh?” you said, like an idiot. 

“You aren’t as hideous as I thought you were.” 

The bone you threw at him of course, never hit its target. And from the stairs below, came the low sound of the dhampir’s laughter.


	4. A Special Occasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, thanks for all the kudos, bookmarks and comments! If you enjoyed the story, do let me know. And oh yes, that dirty song in the previous chapter was from The Witcher.  
> ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It had been a month, during which a queer kind of restless melancholy had gradually seeped in. Some days it drowsed and droned, no more than a slight heaviness in your bones. When there were things to do such as training, foraging for food or hunting for meat, it left you, especially when Goldilocks appeared to annoy you incessantly by reminding you that you were a pest living on his property. But the feeling came back in the wee hours of the morning when the hardness of the floor came through the layers of sacks that your makeshift bed consisted of, and you couldn’t sleep. It lingered on long after dreams of happier times, when you awoke, momentarily confused to see the ruined state of the rooms around you when minutes before, everything had been whole, perfect. 

Wondering around the massive manor, seeing the shadow it had become, the bird nests sticking out from exposed beams and holes in the walls, the toppled remains of furniture that you tried setting aright only for them to tumble down again when the evening winds came through, like gusts through a skeleton. That just made you sad. Sometimes you weren’t even sure which area had been what room; it all looked so different. If only things had turned out differently. But what was the point of if only? 

Sometimes you wondered exactly what Goldilocks was doing in that massive castle. You were quite sure you had almost crossed paths with him in the woods. Animals darting through the underbrush, birds suddenly taking to flight from behind the thicket you were just beside. Once you thought you caught a glimpse of blond hair against green leaves while stalking a flock of pheasants. How did he keep his days filled?

“I need beer. Wine. Fuck, I’ll even take that horse piss they sell at The Fat Cow.” It was the worse alcohol you had ever tasted in your life but right now, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Unlike Trevor, you believed the bliss that being flat-out drunk should be an occasional state, not a constant one. ‘Though he couldn’t have been deep in his cups if he had killed Dracula, even if he had help.’

“You truly are cousins with Belmont.” 

You had heard him, this time. Or rather, smelled him because the wind had done you a favour and brought that distinct scent of wine and roses to you. “It must be the stunning good looks we share.”

“And your utter shamelessness.”

You half-turned, though your hand was ready on the hilt of your blade, and winked. “I was about to say that myself.” Strolling casually around the remains of the large room, you stopped at an angle where you were to the dhampir’s left but close enough to the huge gap in the wall should you need an exit. “And our love of wine. Wine makes everything better. Beer too. Vodka. Whiskey. God, I miss those.” 

“I can give you a map and point you in the direction of the nearest town,” he said helpfully, leaning against the doorway—or at least what had once been a doorway. 

“Dream on Goldilocks.”

A faint scowl crossed his face. It didn’t make him look any less attractive. You liked handsome men as much as any red-blooded woman and had enjoyed a few of them in your lifetime. But you drew the line at fucking anything that wasn’t entirely human. It was liable to end up with you being eaten, for one, and for another, mortal-immortal relationships just didn’t work. That huge eyesore blotting out the skyline was a stark reminder of that. Dracula had lost his mortal wife and along with her, his mind. And the country had paid for it in rivers of blood. And Goldilocks… You eyed him, wondering what his childhood must have been like. Certainly there had been no sleepovers with the neighbours’ kids, you were sure of that. 

“What are you doing anyway? You’ve been loitering here for the better half of an hour.”

That straightened your spine. You had only been aware of him for the past twenty minutes at best. ‘Fuck,’ you cursed silently. “Spying on me?” you sniped. 

“Keeping an eye on the unwanted guest on my premises,” he said, looking down the length of that long nose at you. 

You hadn’t meant to tell him at all. But you had been in a mood for the past two days and during that time, Goldilocks had been absent. Maybe it was just the fact that he was another living, breathing being who could speak the same language as you. Or perhaps that in the silence of the last two days, the ghosts of the past had been especially loud and you were sick of hearing their voices. “Trevor and I used to play here.” That came out so abruptly that it was hard to say who was more shocked, him or you. “It was a study, back in the day before ignorant arseholes burned this place to the ground.” You took ten steps forward. “There was a huge oak table here, large enough for both of us to squeeze under and hide, and scare the shit out of whichever unfortunate adult came in to get some work done.” Looking past the dhampir, for a moment, you could see the spiral staircase, the bottom of it where you and Trevor would go sliding down, oftentimes to land on your arses that would hurt for the rest of the day. You found yourself offering that titbit as well, unable to stop the words. Maybe you were drunk, just on the past.

“It sounds like you spent a lot of time here as a child,” Goldilocks offered. There was such an uncharacteristic gentleness, even something tentative in his voice. It made you look steadfastly anywhere else except him. 

“I spent three years here. I was eight when I came. Trevor was six and an irritating little snot even then.”

“I’d say. Although I do recall using the term ‘runt’ on him.” 

You chuckled ruefully. “I bet he must have loved that. He only got taller than me at sixteen.”

“He cut me open with his whip.”

You looked at him then, brow raised. “Did you wave the magical sword of death at him?”

Amusement was a good look on the dhampir. Briefly you reminded yourself that no interspecies fucking was allowed. You were a monster hunter after all. You had the family name and pride to uphold. “I might have.”

You snorted. “I bet you tried to turn him into ribbons.”

“Tried to. But not that hard. I needed to see if he was indeed the Hunter who would help me.” 

You had caught wind of that prophecy while in Gresit, a place you didn’t want to go back to. “You’re the sleeping soldier? I thought you were just a myth.”

A strange intensity entered his eyes, almost pinning you on the spot with the strength of his gaze. Tension crept into the lines of his body, though he maintained that same relaxed pose. Looking upwards towards the castle, he spoke. “People used to say the same thing about my father’s castle.”

For one very long moment, your mind went blank, as if it couldn’t process what he was telling you. And then it did. “You’re Dracula’s son?” You meant to say it, not half-shout it. 

“To the Wallachians, I am Alucard. But my given name is Adrian Tepes.” The haunted smile he gave you made the hairs on your arms and neck stand. “I prefer that, actually.”

“Why did…” Clamping your mouth shut, you swallowed the obvious question you had been asking. Of course. Child of a vampire father. ‘And a human mother. He chose. He had to choose.’ Child of both worlds. Your eyes slid to the castle. ‘Child living in a tomb.’ Your skin crawled. Living in the ruined Belmont estate was already getting to you and it had been only four weeks. You didn’t bother trying to imagine what it was like living in the place where you had slain your own parent. There was no way you could understand. Your parents loved you. They loved you so much they had sent you to the Belmonts for safekeeping. 

Of course he could be lying and you had no way of knowing but… He hadn’t tried to eat you. He hadn’t harmed you, though there had been chances aplenty. The worst thing he had done was to insult you and occasionally freak you out by appearing out of nowhere. Were it not for the way he looked, you would have thought you were being harassed by a teenaged boy with zero social skills. And then there was that smile. Pain-filled, pulsing with the living memory of the dead. Crystal clear agony which cut like a knife. You knew that smile. Your mother looked like that whenever anyone talked about your brother and sister. Your father and you had long made it clear no one was to ever speak about them in both your presences. Often times you would just walk out. Your father would go train. You went to the tavern or wine cellar. 

You didn’t know what else to say. Your dance with sorrow was not one that he knew and his was alien to you as well. So you said the first thing which came to mind. “Thank you.” It was woefully inadequate and so soft, you didn’t know if he would hear it. But he did, because his whole body went rigid and the gleam in his eyes turned brighter. You looked away. You didn’t need to see anyone’s pain. Dealing with feelings was not your forte. Fuck, you couldn’t even deal with your own most times. 

“Beer,” you muttered. 

“What?”

Rounding on him with conviction, you forged on. “What we need is to get drunk.”

“I can’t get drunk.”

You stared at him, horrified. “Well, that’s just fucking awful. But I’m good at adapting. How about this? I’ll get drunk and you can do it vicariously through me. It’s all about forgetting inhibitions and feeling good, right? You say what you like and I won’t remember it, and vice versa.”

The dhampir—Goldilocks—Adrian looked at you as if you had grown a second head. Your cheeks flushed, you could feel the blush rising from your neck. “Fine then,” you muttered, turning away. It wasn’t a great idea to begin with. You were an emotional drunk anyway; that’s why Trevor was a great drinking companion because alcohol gave him a filthy sense of humour and he’d always made you laugh. “Forget—”

“I like that idea,” he said so forcefully that your eyes snapped back to him. “I’ve never…It’ll be a new experience. I’m keen to try it out.” Then he looked expectantly at you. 

“Oh. Alright, that’s great. You bring over as many bottles as you can manage. It’ll be dinner soon and I’ve got to go catch something—”

“Are you partial to fish?” 

“I’ll eat anything as long as it didn’t crawl out of a fetid swamp. If not for this life and all it entails, I’d be twice my current size now.”

There it was, that head tilt again. “I doubt it,” Adrian murmured. Then he straightened up. “I’ve got two fish. And some vegetables. I’ll bring those over as well.”

“Do you need some help?”

He hesitated and you knew why. Pain, after all, was private and most of his was locked up in that gloomy place. “Ah, what was I thinking. I’m almost out of firewood.” With that, you stepped out through the gap in the wall. “Don’t forget to bring the main course,” you called over your shoulder. 

It took you half an hour to collect the firewood. When you got back, you stopped short. There was an honest to goodness metal roasting spit set up. The fish were already skewered. A small pot hung from one of the rods, filled with water, tomatoes, lettuce and some other leaves you couldn’t recognise. There were three containers filled with some kind of spice you didn’t know what to do with. More than a dozen bottles were stashed neatly at one corner. The sacks had been rearranged and they looked freshly dusted. Head swivelling from left to right, you stood there, breathed and took it all in. You would have thought Dracula’s son had been waited on hand and foot by an army of undead servants. Adrian clearly had more talent for domestic housekeeping and cooking in his little finger than you did in your entire body and soul. 

But more than that… You sniffed, telling yourself that it was non-existent dust. There was something about the entire scene that screamed eagerness. ‘Because he is lonely. Or may because you are lonely.’ Maybe you were projecting. Maybe it was because both of you were living in the ruins of what had once been home. Or maybe it was just because you were alcohol deprived. Ignoring the desire to swallow the entire contents of the bottle nearest to you, you set about placing the wood and dried grasses and leaves in the hearth you had cobbled together. The sparks caught quickly and you were in the middle of carefully blowing on them when Adrian appeared. He held a single bottle in one hand, and two wine glasses in the other. “This was my mother’s favourite. I had been saving it for a special occasion…” 

You smiled at him then, really smiled because it reached your eyes and for once there was no barbed intentions or nasty words fuelling it. “Yeah, I think this would count as one. We’ll drink it first, while I’m still sober. Come on and help me with the cooking. I have no fucking clue what those spices are and whether I’ve supposed to stuff them in the fish or spread them on the skin…”


	5. Start Somewhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, as always, thanks for comments, kudos and bookmarks! While I am treating this a little like my post Season 3 therapy, I am interested in writing meaningful fluff, if there's such a thing. Alucard's mental and emotional state are interesting, to me, so I want to explore a couple of things. And yes, I do have some kind of plot, the seeds of which are planted here. Do let me know what you think! 
> 
> P.S: The featured dirty song is a real one entitled "Watkin's Ale".  
> ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You were drunk, or at the least, well on your way to being so. The usual signs were all there. For one thing, everything seemed so much brighter, as if dusted in stardust and moonshine. And there was an overwhelming sense of goodwill towards the world and all mankind, something you only felt when you had enough alcohol raging through your system such that you forgot that humans could be as much of a monster as the creatures you hunted and honestly, of what good was your profession then? The thing that gave away just how drunk you were was that you were singing bawdy songs once more. You only ever did that when you were lands away from sober. Thank God you had eaten first before drinking. You couldn’t be trusted with skewers and knives, not right now. 

“I don’t understand.” Adrian—not dhampir, not Goldilocks—fuck, why was there two of him—looked slightly perplexed. “So this is not a song about ale?”

You rolled your eyes so hard that they might have fallen out of your sockets to the floor. “Come on Adrian,” you drawled, no longer in a state to notice how using his name pleased him visibly because each time you did, he looked you directly in the eye. “Seriously? Listen carefully: He took this maiden then aside and led her where she was not spied, and told her many a pretty tale, and gave her well of Watkins ale. Good sir, quoth she, in smiling sort, what do you call this pretty sport?”

“He got her drunk.”

You actually slapped your face with a hand and almost poked your eye out. Luckily, Adrian caught said hand before it could do real damage and placed it back on your knee. It occurred to you that you were sitting so closely to him that if you leaned in anymore, your shoulders would be touching. Such were the perils of getting drunk; you cared not that you were getting thoroughly sotted in the presence of a dhampir. “He did not get her drunk.” You held up a finger severely, as if he were a recalcitrant student. “She wasn’t drinking ale, if you get my drift.”

“Wine?”

You waited until Adrian took a large sip from his wineglass. “She,” you said loudly and in the most saucy tone you could muster, “drank come. And of course, they fucked.”

He almost spat out the mouthful. Almost. Fuck, you almost had him. It was most vexing that he was so fucking elegant and composed all the time. Except when he was angry. Then he was hot enough to cook a steak on. ‘What the fuck are you thinking?’ It was more a bewildered question than a rebuke. Yes, you were certainly drunk. 

“Oh. I see.” He blushed, fetchingly so, pale red stretching from his long flawless neck to those high flawless cheekbones. “What are you doing?”

You realised you had peeled your spine away from the wall, shuffled your arse to the side so that you didn’t have to crane your neck staring at him. “I suppose I can understand now,” you muttered, tilting your head in a mock imitation of what he did to you. “In this light, you could almost be a beautiful woman.”

“That’s it, you’ve had enough.” He reached for your glass, you yanked it away from his hand and half the contents sloshed into the merrily burning fire which leaped as the alcohol came into contact with the flames. And suddenly you were back against the wall, Adrian’s wide eyes on yours, his arm flat against your midriff. You giggled. “Your hair was almost on fire,” he lectured. Your only response was to giggle louder and reach for the open bottle to fill Adrian’s glass to the brim. 

“Hey.”

“Oops.” The glass had filled too quickly and now red wine had spilled over his hands. He put the glass down. Only for you to grab his hands and wipe them off using the edge of your shirt. He was surprisingly pliant and awfully silent. He had such soft skin; no sword calluses marred his palms and those long, long fingers. It was with laudable self-control that you didn’t lick your lips at any one point. “There.” Satisfied with your good work, you placed his hands neatly back in his lap. “I’m sorry I got you wet.” And then you turned away to giggle some more at your dubious choice of words, not that you had intended it. Trevor would have made some obscene and humorous remark. The man beside you now did nothing of that sort. You did realise his face, if once faintly red, was now a much deeper shade. Or it could be the fire, which burned hotter and higher now, thanks to the contribution from your glass. ‘Yeah, it’s the fire.’

He drained his glass in one gulp. “That was impressive,” you groused. “But you can’t get drunk. Still, I’d like to bring you to a tavern one day. Show you what it’s like. Those boots of yours would be good.” You squinted until the two Adrians became one. “Helps you not to worry about the vomit and piss on the floors, but that’s just those on the high roads and isolated byways. A real city tavern wouldn’t have the piss. And the food’s a bit better, though nothing like your cooking.”

“You liked the meal?” he asked softly. You remembered thanking him and not talking much because you had never tasted fish that wonderful before. In the end, Adrian had relegated you to turning the fish, with the occasional instruction from him, while he basted them in spices and olive oil. 

“It was the best thing I ever had. Apart from sex,” you replied, as dead serious as a drunk person could be. “And even then it was better than,” you thought long and hard about this, “better than most of my encounters. Hey!” 

Adrian had removed the opened bottle which you had insisted on keeping by your side and drank right from it. “It was almost empty anyway.” He sounded almost curt. When he placed the empty bottle down, it was loud enough for you to hear the clink. 

“It was half full,” you complained. “Save some for the person who can get drunk.”

“You are already drunk.”

“I could get more drunk,” you countered. With a loud sigh, you slumped against the hard wall. “I did it mean it though. I think you would like a tavern visit.”

“Not when the humans start screaming once I open my mouth.” 

Humming quietly, you touched his hand. It wasn’t affection, just kindness. He had done so much and had gotten a fucking shitty deal out of it. Why the fuck hadn’t Trevor taken Adrian with him? You had never seen anyone who, quite literally, needed to get a life. That it was an immortal being made the whole matter even more ironic. “I’ll stay. And if the barkeep runs away, we can help ourselves to as much as we can have.”

“They’ll come with pitchforks and fire.” But he sounded less bitter now. 

“Fuck them. Then we’ll just carry a barrel or two away and come back here to drink.” Contented silence followed, marred by the occasional sounds of your slurping. A thought entered your head and of course, your mouth felt compelled to give it voice. “So no dirty books or bawdy ditties under your childhood bed then?”

Adrian stared down at you. And smiled. “No,” he said softly. “That wasn’t quite the education my parents had in mind. My father was a polymath and my mother a doctor. I remember reading scholarly texts even before I could understand them.”

“What a shame; clearly you’ve been deprived. You only studied magic and science, and had a flying sword to play with.” 

He chuckled. “So what was under your childhood bed?”

Oh, you didn’t like that question. But you were so far into your cups that you couldn’t remember why. You shuffled closer to him, eyes on the fire. He didn’t move away when your shoulders and arms touched, nor when the entire length of your leg came into contact with his. “Before I was eight, it was toys. My older brother and sister would make toys. I had a sketchbook.”

“You draw?”

“I drew stick people and stick houses. And stick swords. As you can tell, I’m truly gifted at art.”

“Hm.”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything. Why didn’t your siblings come with you?”

“They’re dead.” No amount of alcohol could ever dull the harshness of that last word. “They went out to deal with a vampire menacing a town in another province. They didn’t know....” You shouldn’t say anymore. ‘Stop talking,’ you ordered yourself. 

“I am sorry.” Adrian’s hand lifted, hovered hesitantly in the air. Then it came down on yours, large, surprisingly warm—though not as warm as a fully human hand—and utterly comforting. 

“It was a Morris that killed them,” you blurted out. “Centuries ago, one of us got turned. And ever since then, he wanted to either kill us or build his own Clan of ex-monster hunters.” You kept your eyes focused on the fire. “That’s why I was sent here. After my siblings…my parents wanted revenge and they needed somewhere safe to put me.” 

There was nothing that could be said after that and you didn’t want any platitudes. You didn’t want words. You just wanted Adrian to listen, for someone else to hear that dark secret family shame that had passed down the generations, the one reason why even after you went home, there were throwing knives under your pillows and spare swords. No more toys. No books unless it had to do with vampire hunting. But Adrian didn’t need to know that. And what the fuck were you doing anyway, vomiting your emotions all over him when he was the one living in the goddamn castle he had killed his father in? 

When the awful tightness in your throat and chest passed, you spoke again. “You could come stay here you know.” You sensed him looking at you. “Help me clean up this place. Clean up the Hold. It’s always good to start somewhere. Eventually we could clean up your castle…” You had a faint idea that you were beginning to ramble now. That was your cue to shut the fuck up because the last thing anyone needed were your platitudes. So to help yourself keep quiet, you grabbed a full bottle, pulled the cork out with your teeth and drank the entirety of its contents. 

Trevor would be proud.


	6. The Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, here's another chapter. As always, your comments, kudos and bookmarks keep the wheels in my head going round and there are ideas aplenty. Which means more chapters! I hope you enjoy this one as much as I did writing it.   
> _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You were dying. And who was making that ungodly sound? For a moment, your hand grasped blindly for your sword, for surely only night creatures made that kind of terrible groaning and hissing. Then you stopped because you realised that sound was coming from you. Cracking open your eyes, you squeezed them shut almost immediately. The morning sun was slanting in through the semi-broken windows and its light was doing to your eyes what it did to vampires. If you looked at it, your eyeballs would melt into goo. As it was, you were certain they were trying to escape from your head. 

“Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuck.” Your tongue was stuck to the roof of your mouth, which was dryer than sawdust and felt like sandpaper. The only thing that could make this worse was…your stomach roiled. A dry retch shook your body. “Fucking hell.”

The sound of your name only made the raging headache trampling on your brain even worse. “Fuck off Trevor,” you mumbled, trying to cover your head with your hands while attempting to crawl up off the ground. Needless to say, you failed pathetically at either. 

“I’m not Trevor.”

You were wondering if that voice, a voice that you couldn’t deny was deliciously deep and sexy even in the depths of your suffering, belonged to a one nightstand you had tumbled into bed with, when your stomach twisted again. Sourness crept up your throat. “Oh fuck. I hate puking.”

Strong hands lifted you as easily as if you were an infant. You were being cradled against a very broad, very muscled chest, whimpering, your hands clamped over your mouth, trying to stall the inevitable bout of vomiting. “Put me the fuck down,” you ordered. That was what the incoherent mumblings which emerged through your fingers was meant to be. 

The man completely ignored you. “Keep your eyes closed.” You didn’t feel him moving, only those strong arms tightening around you securely. Then from behind your closed lids the sunlight glared red and your hands went from your mouth to your eyes. “What the fuck,” you cursed weakly. Cool wind blasted through your shirt; at least that wasn’t too bad and you had the strangest feeling that you weren’t in the tower anymore. “We’re almost there. Try not to vomit on me in the next few seconds.”

By then, speaking was not a good idea because the sourness had intensified to your whole mouth. So you had to content yourself with flipping him the bird. “How eloquent,” he said dryly. Then the world darkened again, the angry red of sunlight giving way to shadows. You could smell the forest around you, heard running water nearby. Your knees touched the ground, your hands reached for said ground to balance yourself. Then you promptly proceeded to vomit out the previous night’s contents from your stomach. 

‘Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I’m never drinking again. Why the fuck did I think it was a good idea? I hate alcohol. I hate wine. Oh fuck. I’m going to die from puking…’ That was the litany inside your head as your body heaved and retched as if it was trying to shove your guts out through your mouth. Hot tears streamed down your face, a side effect of the puking. A horde of night creatures could have come out from the bushes and you would have died because the puking just would not stop. 

You only realised the cool hand at the nape of your neck, the one which was holding your hair up, when you were finally done, panting, still wishing you were dead, but feeling a mite less sick. 

“Is that it?”

You nodded shakily and then you were lifted to your feet with alarming ease. Blindly, you followed the man. The sound of running water—the river, you remembered—grew louder. Then you were gently pushed to your knees and opening your eyes a little, you saw the river right before you. Greedily, you scooped the water up with both hands, washing your face, rinsing your mouth before spitting that onto the bank; you had seen enough arseholes pissing and shitting in rivers and streams to abhor that kind of behaviour. Then you dunked your face inside the cool embrace of the river, hoping it would numb the pounding in your temples. You held your breath for as long as you could. A hand settled on your shoulder, tugging slightly and you surfaced, inhaling so sharply you breathed in a little water which made you cough. But it was alright, you felt better now. Wiping your face with one hand, you pried your eyes open, wincing against the sunlight that was filtering in through the trees. 

And saw Adrian’s very handsome and even more amused face looking down at you. Of course. He could levitate at will. He must have flown you here from the tower. Last night came back in a rush of fragmented pieces. You hadn’t been joking when you told Adrian you couldn’t remember anything once you got drunk. You remembered everything up until the first dirty song about two pirate captains and three mermaids. Everything else was a blur. An alarming thought struck you. As always, your mouth reacted before your brain did. “We didn’t have sex, did we?”

He stopped looking amused. The fine curve of his mouth hardened, as did those long-lashed eyes. He leaned closer and alarm washed over you in waves. He looked so offended that you couldn’t help but quail. “You certainly weren’t joking when you said you couldn’t remember anything once drunk.”

If your face got any hotter, it would melt the sun. Your entire body felt like one big bruise, probably because the pain from your headache had distributed itself to the rest of your limbs but there wasn’t the usual soreness that came with sex and when your eyes swept desperately over the dhampir before you, there weren’t any marks or scratches or even a goddamned hair out of place on the man. Usually your lovers never got off without a mark or two… But Adrian was practically glaring at you and…. “I’m sorry?” you offered weakly. 

The last thing you expected was for him to throw his head back and laugh. Blankly, you stared at him before you realised what was going on. He had tricked you. Dipping your hand in the river, you sent some splashing in his direction and it was a testament to how funny he thought it was that he didn’t bother ducking. “Jerk,” you muttered, folding your arms and turning away. 

“Yes, I am a jerk for making sure you did not foul your living quarters and bringing you to the river to wash up.”

And holding up your hair while you puked. Not even Trevor had done that. Bloody hell, usually you and Trevor would be puking your guts out at the same time and neither of you was in a fit state to help the other. The remembrance of Adrian’s cool hand against your neck made you shiver a little. Best that you forgot that as soon as possible. “I’m too tired to argue with you.” You mustered the most dignified tone you possibly could.

That only made him laugh more. “I’m beginning to see the upside of my inability to get drunk,” he finally said once he was done laughing. 

“I’m beginning to wish for that inability myself.” 

“Are you ready to go back now?”

Not entirely. Here in the forest, it was cool and smelled sweet. It was better than staying in the ruined manor. You sighed. “You go first.”

“Certainly not. You couldn’t kill even a rabbit in your current state and you are unarmed.” You turned around to glare at him. But you moved too quickly and your head throbbed so hard that you winced. “And even if you were armed, you would pose more a danger to yourself than to any enemies confronting you.”

“I resent that.”

“I don’t care,” Adrian said. Startled, you chuckled, despite the pain that caused you. “What?” 

“God, but you sounded just like Trevor at that moment.”

“I think you just insulted me. Come on.” He offered you his hand. 

You could either refuse to take it or take it and… Why the fuck were you so hesitant about touching him? You drank with him last night. Sure, you wouldn’t call what you had friendship…maybe weird companions of a sort was a more accurate label. But you were more than strangers now, if only by a bit. Reaching out, you took what he offered and noticed how his large hand practically swallowed up yours. Everything that was ever said about men with big hands came rushing back into your head. The moment you got to your feet, you practically snatched your hand back. Fuck, your year-long dry spell was finally coming back to bite you in the arse by messing with your head and hormones. “You should go first,” you insisted, edging away from the dhampir. 

He folded his arms and eyed you the way an adult would a foolish child. “No.”

“Adrian, for the love of God, just go first. I’ll catch up. See, the castle is right there. I’ll head in that direction and find my way back.”

He sighed, patiently. And you snapped, impatiently. “Could you just go first so that I could have some privacy? I did drink a lot last night and I have the very human need to piss.”

Ah, there it was, that blush again. You glared at him, he had the good grace to look somewhat guilty. “If anything attacks you—”

“I’ll piss on its fucking face and kill it myself,” you tossed over your shoulder, scurrying off. “Now go away.”

Of course he didn’t. But he went far off enough that you felt certain those sharp dhampir ears couldn’t have heard anything. He walked you back to the tower, where you promptly fell asleep again. When you awoke, it was evening. In the hearth, a low fire burned and on the spit hung a pot of vegetable soup. There was a covered plate of bread as well. Adrian had made dinner for you. Again. 

Your first urge was to pick up the pot, grab the bread and march up to his castle doors to demand he share the meal with you. The thought of him eating alone in that big gloomy graveyard of a castle was suddenly disturbing in a way that bothered you more than you cared to admit. You hadn’t even thanked him for helping you that morning. 

And suddenly, you knew it. Adrian hadn’t been lying. Your knuckleheaded cousin who was as kind as he was impetuous had in all likelihood given the Belmont estate to Dracula’s son. Because like you, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—have been unmoved by the dhampir’s sacrifice. “Oh fuck,” you muttered. 

***

First, he picked up all the fallen books and pushed back the shelves into their proper place. Then he set about putting said books into their rightful places. Books on astronomy, books on herbology. The human anatomy. He felt the beating of his all too mortal heart in his chest as for the first time in weeks, Adrian began picking up the pieces, quite literally. 

_Help me clean up this place. Clean up the Hold. It’s always good to start somewhere. Eventually we could clean up your castle…_

Your words echoed in his head. He listened to them when that strange melancholy came back, when the remembrance of him and his father trying to tear each other to pieces played out before his eyes in the library. When coldness crept in, it was the solid warmth he had felt when you leaned into him that he turned to. No one had touched him, not since Sypha had held his hands and wished him well. She hadn’t wanted to leave him, he had sensed that, but her desire for Trevor and adventure, coupled with his own refusal to leave, had caused her to go where he couldn’t follow. She was his friend. And you?

The smile that tugged at his lips wasn’t something Adrian could help. Not that he wanted to suppress it. You were amusing, so rough around the edges that he thought even his mother would have been a little shocked. His father might have been scandalised. But she would have liked you, he thought. Lisa of Lupu who had been undeterred by dozens of staked skeletons outside a castle would not have been put off by Trevor Belmont’s monster-hunting cousin who cussed like it was going out of fashion and drank like a fish. ‘And thanked me for killing my father to save the rest of her kind.’ His hand stilled on the book he had just slid back in place. In truth, the humans were also his kind, half in any case. Vampires were his people too. But oftentimes he felt like he had no people, that he was alone. But last night…he hadn’t felt like that in a long while, not since travelling on the road with Trevor and Sypha, and plunging into battle knowing they had his back and he had theirs. 

Were there words to describe what it felt like to belong? Perhaps not. Perhaps for now it was best summed up by the warmth of a fire, by the touch of another lying next to him, the weight of your head on his shoulder, the trust you showed by letting down your guard and letting him in. The long hours of the previous night that had seemed full rather than empty. And your snoring… Adrian snorted, went back to filling up the empty spaces on the shelves. Your snoring was something he was not likely to forget for the rest of his immortal life.


	7. The Hold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, here's another chapter. I think from here onwards, I'll be updating a bit less regularly but there will be at least a chapter a week from now on, or more, depending on how fast I can get them out. As always, your comments, kudos and bookmarks are love! I hope you enjoy this one.  
> ________________________________________________________________________________

Stoically, you stared down into the gaping pit that represented the only way in and out of the Hold. The stench that you had gotten a whiff of previously was worse than ever. If the birds had descended to devour the corpse, it wouldn’t have been so bad. The smell would actually be gone. But no crow or vulture in its right mind dined on demon flesh. 

The sun was directly overhead, beaming enough light inside for you to make out the ruined staircase. It wasn’t that bad actually, you thought. As always, when you were about to do something very stupid, you tended to paint it in the most positive light possible. Sure, parts of the structure had been torn out or collapsed, and the wood had been exposed to the weather for about two months. That was how long you had waited already and you didn’t want to wait anymore. Although the staircase had been bloody ancient, you were certain that your Belmont relatives had maintained it up until the ignorant and angry had driven them from their home. You were sure that you could make it down safely. All you needed to do….

“Is to be careful,” you muttered, dropping down over the edge and landing on what looked like the sturdiest part of the first spiral of the staircase. There were six in all, six spirals which you thought of as six levels, circling downwards towards the bottom of the structure. And down there had to be an entryway leading into the Hold. At each level hung huge tapestries bearing the Belmont crest. Those looked somewhat singed and ragged, and fairly weatherworn but still sturdy, held in place by rods and rails firmly entrenched in stone walls. ‘Those might be helpful,’ you noted. A whip might have been even more helpful, but since you had no talent with one, there was no point in wishing for it. 

Keeping your body close to the wall while feeling for holes and gashes that would provide a handhold of sorts should the wood beneath you collapse, you slowly stepped forward, inching along, following the gradual dip of the staircase until you came to its shattered end. You could either try leaping four feet across to the other side, or…. You eyed the long tapestry that hung just below you, conveniently situated between the gap. Below it was a good solid length of stairs. Kneeling carefully, you scrutinised the stone rings, the iron rods that gleamed dully beneath an uneven coat of dust. There was some rusting, but enough not to make you alarmed. Wood whispered, creaking softly as you got up, took some steps back before making a light running leap. Dust rose in thick clouds, nearly choking you when you fell through the air before catching hold of the thick gold-crimson cloth. The sound of tearing was like alarm bells in your ears and you relaxed your hold, sliding fast and loose down the length of it before reaching the end. A louder, longer tear followed this time. You had no choice; you let go. When your feet hit the wood, you felt the staircase shudder in protest even though you plastered yourself against cold stone. From above, the tapestry that had been torn loose by your weight fluttered down into the darkness, like a bird with broken wings. ‘One down,’ you thought. ‘Five more to go.’

The second circle wasn’t so bad, save for the huge piles of rubble you had to either kick out of the way or climb over. Once, you slipped, the pile of rocks sliding down over the edge but you made it in time, scrabbling like a crab running sideways until you reached the safety of the stairs on the other side. Tiny stings flowered on your palms; you had superficial cuts in half a dozen places on your hands and wrists. As you edged past the fallen portrait of Leon Belmont, mindful of the shattered balustrades inches away and the steep drop beyond, you couldn’t help but silently berate him for what must have been a very grand and imposing structure. “A pulley system might have made more sense,” you muttered, side-eyeing the likeness of the man. 

The third circle was where you got stuck. In front of you was a huge gap, followed by a jagged protrusion of stairs shaped vaguely like an arrowhead and behind that was another gap separating that from the rest of the stairs on that level. “Oh fuck,” you muttered, bringing up a dusty hand to scratch at your head. You really did not want to turn back; that in itself posed more difficulties than climbing down had. And you were certain there were ropes or chains to be found in the Hold itself. You could use those to get back out later. But for now… Eyeing the gaps, you made quick calculations, backing up to give yourself enough room for another running leap. You had to be fast. The protruding remains of the staircase would only bear up for seconds once you landed on it and you had to make sure you jumped far enough to reach the remaining side. A mild mushroom-like odour reached your nose. “Shit,” you cursed, recognising the smell of wood rot. Still, it wasn’t so strong that attempting to cross was suicide. “Come on Morris,” you whispered under your breath. 

And from above Adrian’s voice descended like a whip crack. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

Startled, you turned to see the dhampir descending through the centre of the pit until he was level with you. His hair floated like a halo on the wind generated by his speed and though you had never seen an angel before in your life, you pretty much reckoned that this might be the closest you ever got to it. ‘An avenging angel,’ you corrected. To say that Adrian looked furious was like saying winter was cold. “Isn’t that my line?” you quipped, making an attempt at humour. 

Clearly it was the wrong thing to do because he actually snarled. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“No, I’m trying to jump from here to over there and over there,” you replied blithely, pointing out your intended route. 

“No, you’re fucking not—”

This was the problem with you: you hated being scolded and you hated being told you couldn’t do something. Adrian hadn’t finished speaking before you sprinted forward, deaf to his reaction and blind to everything else but your intended target. You leaped, subconsciously aware of the sound of breaking wood, heart in your mouth and adrenaline pumping like a sweet siren song in your blood. You landed hard, felt the wood give and jumped with all your strength, mouth bared in a smile as you landed on the staircase, skidding forward before pushing yourself to a stop against the wall. “See,” you breathed victoriously, eyes shining at the dhampir who had turned a shade of pale you didn’t know existed. “I told you I could—”

A loud eerie creak and the shiver of wood was the only warning you got. Then the staircase beneath your feet gave way and you didn’t know if you screamed because the roar of wood as it tore free from the wall filled your ears. Something hard hit your head, you put your hand up to shield it belatedly, the sickening sensation of tumbling through air turning your stomach inside out. 

A large hand caught your wrist, jerking you to a stop, pulled you up against a solid warm body while an arm circled your waist like a chain. You didn’t even realise you were clinging to Adrian until your eyes snapped open to see the entire length of the spiral staircase on the right collapse, falling down onto the second and first levels, taking chunks of those with it. From over his shoulder you peered down on the added destruction you had caused. “Bloody hell,” you whispered. The hand around your waist tightened, fingers biting into your side. The one at the nape of your neck squeezed hard enough that you thought you might bruise from it and you were about to complain when you felt the rapid rise and fall of the chest plastered against yours, the quick shallow breaths tearing through the descending quiet. When you tried to push yourself back so that you could face him, Adrian wouldn’t let you. Oh, you were in so much trouble.

When he spoke, it was very soft, very controlled, yet the edge of each word reminded you of polished knives and sharpened swords. It wasn’t so much what you heard with your physical ears, it was what you felt, something dark and barely caged beneath it all. “You will never again put yourself at risk. You will never again disobey me when it comes to such matters. Do you understand?” 

A dozen defiant answers came to mind, all of which your instincts warned against speaking aloud. Something sharp pricked your earlobe when you didn’t reply. That galvanised you. “Yes,” you murmured. “Yes.” It had been ten days since that wonderful night of drinking and nine since that awful morning when you suffered the mother of all hangovers and for each day in between, Adrian had come by often and you basically had spent every dinner meal together. He had brought you a very thick volume about hand to hand combat and sword-fighting because you had complained of boredom, and you had spent nights poring through it. Sometimes you would walk the dark corridors of the manor, stretching your legs and when you looked up, you could see faint light shining from a single room in that huge looming castle. It had warmed your heart to imagine, even if it wasn’t true, that you had someone watching out for you. 

It never occurred to you that having a dhampir for a friend was quite different from having a human as one. Trevor would have cussed you out, smacked you on the head and gotten into a slanging match when you hit back. Your parents would have yelled at you, but that was it. The rest of your Clan knew better than to tell you what to do. But this one who was still holding you so tightly that it did feel mildly painful…this one was different. You knew everything there was to know about vampire physiology. It never occurred to you that you knew shit about vampire psychology. 

“Adrian, please.” You moved your hands softly across the expanse of his broad back. “Please.” And … “I’m sorry if I scared you. If it helps, I scared the shit out of me too.”

When he said nothing, you bit your lip, feeling cold despite the warmth of his body against yours. But the hands holding you gentled and then you were moving through the air, floating downwards into a weak pool of light at the bottom. At the edge of it loomed the gigantic corpse of a minotaur. Somewhere to the side, the ragged edge of a severed wing could be seen. Your feet touched the ground. Adrian let you go and turned away too quickly for you to see his face. All you saw was his back and that long golden hair. Silently, you followed him. 

It was almost pitch black where he led you. When you could see no further you stopped, listening only to the sound of his footsteps until those faded. You were wondering if he was going to leave you alone here when light flared ahead, the tell-tale thick orange flicker of a torch. Then it got brighter, throwing the darkened outline of the arched doorway into high relief. 

Your breath caught when you stepped through. Here it was, the fabled Hold. Back home, your family library was impressive but it was nothing compared to this, like a drop of water in a storm. Though there was more shadow than light despite Adrian progressively lighting more and more torches, you could see the multiple levels, the long walkways, crimson carpets at the bottom decorated with those cross-like swords which adorned the Belmont Crest. The skeleton of a sand wyrm hung aloft from the ceiling. There was a rotting demon corpse nearby but you ignored that. Your eyes scanned the great shelves, rows upon rows of books staring back at you. There was little you could do to hold back the loud sigh escaping your lips. 

There was more light below at the bottom floor. Almost reverentially, you made your way down the stairs towards the large lectern at the bottom. A thick book sat upon it. “It’s an Index of all the collections here. You can find the books according to subject matter and alphabetical order as well.” Adrian emerged, unaffected by the proximity of the flame from the torch he held. You couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’ll come back for you in three hours.” His voice could have turned water into ice. 

This was the type of treatment you hated. Hot-headedness and quick tongues ran in your family so it was something you were unused to. Thrashing things out, using fists and words was more your way and when the dust settled, usually the matter was resolved by then. Being given the cold shoulder frustrated you; you had no fucking clue as to what was in the person’s head. You would rather that he had screamed at you. “Fine. Thanks,” you added, trying to soften the curtness of your tone. He had saved you from breaking your neck as well, though if you hadn’t been distracted by him, you might have sensed the danger before it occurred. 

The pages were clean but they had the musty feeling of very old parchment. Idly, you flipped through some of them, listening for Adrian’s footsteps, waiting for him to leave because you knew vampire sight was extraordinarily sharp. The fact that Adrian could see in perfect darkness was a testament to that. When he didn’t move, you looked up. “What?”

“Is that why you’ve stayed all these weeks? Just because there’s something here you want?”

Behind that question were more silent ones and an insinuation that you really didn’t like. Despite your faint guilt and the gratitude you felt towards him for saving you, your hackles rose. “What does that mean? I stayed to wait for Trevor but since it’s quite clear he’s not coming back anytime soon, I can’t just sit on my arse and do nothing. Not anymore.” Your voice rose a little, you clamped your mouth shut, determined not to yell or shout. “If you are implying I hung around to… trick you in some way, I would have asked you directly to bring me down here, not risk my own neck.”

He stared at you, intently, as if dissecting your every feature. Grim-eyed, you stared back. But whatever he was searching for, he found it, because that half-savage light in his eyes retreated. Instead of looking like he might eat you alive, he just looked horribly angry. “And what is it that you want from this place?”

Internally, you could feel walls coming down. “I’m a Morris and this is the Belmont Hold. I am a monster hunter and this is the greatest monster hunting repository in the world. I would be an idiot to let a broken staircase get in my way.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

Adrian took two steps forward and you had to hold onto the lectern to force yourself to stay in place. “Are you always such a bad liar?”

Your heart sank. Fuck. “It’s not my forte. Look, I can’t tell you why I’m here, not entirely at least. But it is true that I was looking for Trevor and that I came here to find out if he was still alive.”

“And your continued stay here is merely to ascertain if he did bequeath this place to me.”

Gathering your courage, you looked up and held Adrian’s gaze. God, he was tall, the tallest person you had ever met. “I know he did. For what it’s worth, I believe you now. You were on the road with Trevor, you fought beside him. He must have seen…the things I see in you. That you are worthy of protecting the secrets in this place.”

“Why didn’t he leave it to your family?”

You squared your shoulders. “Because my Clan would have killed you on sight or died trying. Simply because you are half a vampire. They wouldn’t have listened to reason, or wanted to see that you were different. It was a courtesy that you extended to me when you let me live.” Shame was not something you felt often, but you felt it then. You didn’t really blame your family; they had gone through their share of dark times and they were products of that. But the thought of them hunting Adrian made you physically ill. 

“You’re waiting for Trevor because you need his help, don’t you?”

Your hand tightened on the lectern, the other curled into a fist. “I can’t reply to that.”

“You just did. What do you need help with?”

For a moment, hope flared inside and Adrian saw it. You knew he did because his face softened and suddenly he looked much more like that gentle man you had come to know. But in your ears you could hear the voice of your Clan, felt the weight of its iron rules coming down. “Some things are only for family, Adrian. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t bother looking at you when he left.


	8. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, first and foremost, thanks for the love you've shown this story! It is always so encouraging and a big inspiration to the writing. I've added a bit of my own interpretation to the Castlevania Clans; so purists, please don't kill me. I hope this latest chapter entertains you as much as the previous ones. If you like, please let me know. :)  
> _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Today was the fifth day that both of you weren’t speaking to each other. Not that he was counting, Adrian scoffed inwardly. It was something that simply couldn’t be avoided because every day he had to ferry you into and out of the Hold. You had suggested building some kind of pulley system which would allow you to access the place on your own; he had countered by saying doing so could enable any common thief or brigand looking to loot the place. You had then suggested that he allow you to bring up some of the books so that you need not trouble him on a daily basis. He had loftily informed you that since your Belmont relatives had seen fit to place an Enochian ward at the entrance to seal it, surely you had the wisdom to understand that any book inside there was not meant to be seen above ground. 

After that you had stopped speaking to him entirely, possibly because he was acting like the bastard Trevor had called him. He had behaved like you were a pest when your ideas had been centred around making things more convenient for him. And he was acting like a child. Sypha’s specific words had been “angry teenager in an adult’s body”. He curled his lip, thoroughly disgruntled by that description because it hit uncomfortably home in this present situation. What you said was hurtful but true, and he appreciated that you hadn’t sugar-coated it. Not that you had the ability to; you were blunt and forthright to a point, just like your idiotic cousin he was so fond of. Not that he would ever tell Belmont that, Adrian decided. Trevor would never let him live that down. 

‘And some things truly are just for family.’ Adrian stared at the burnt portions of the once beautiful rug that had adorned the floor of his childhood room. His father’s ring was still there. He couldn’t bring himself to remove it because he couldn’t bear to step inside. So once a day he stopped by instead, like an outsider, to stare at the family portrait that seemed as unreal as a dream. He looked at the soft dolls, the toy dog his father had made with his own hands because Adrian had wanted a dog and Vlad did not want one. If he looked hard enough, he could see himself being tucked into bed, his parents on either side. They took turns telling him stories; his mother would paint pictures of a land filled with giants and a brave boy who climbed a beanstalk to outwit bloodthirsty giants. His father on the other hand thought telling a two-year-old about the laws of physics and chemistry was perfectly fine. “He’s got to start somewhere Lisa,” Vlad would protest whenever his wife rolled her eyes. Back then, his father had looked at him with love, had kissed and hugged him. 

Neither of them could have imagined that it was here in this room that he would put a stake through his father’s heart and listen to it stop. 

Stepping back, Adrian yanked the door shut, as if to keep out the memory of that cruel night, one of many which blotted out his childhood ones. Yes, some things were just for family. He couldn’t imagine sharing this with anyone. Sypha and Trevor had charged in to save him and put an end to the menace terrorising the land. They had seen the room, but not really noticed. They had fought the monster; they never knew the man. ‘How do I start cleaning this up?’ he thought bitterly. 

Leaving the room, the entire floor behind, he went back to the library, took a cursory look at the neat shelves and the repaired roof. One room down. Countless more to go. Without really thinking, he let his feet take him where it would and to Adrian’s surprise, they led him straight to the wine cellar. The smell of spilled wine filled the air, the stone floors were red with semi-dried rivulets, glittered with glass shards that might have been mistaken for silver or diamonds in weaker light. Before he could stop it, he imagined how you would react if you saw this, if you knew the vintage of the wines wasted. You might have cried. You certainly would have sworn a blue streak. Maybe he would save this room for last, have you come in and clean it up with him, if only to savour your reaction. If you were still around. If you would speak to him. 

The sun came through the western windows as he prowled the corridors, thick as syrup, faintly warm when he touched the glass pane. His mother loved sunsets and often she would sit with him, windows wide open, arms wrapped securely around him. Sometimes his father would watch from the shadows; it would be awhile before he stopped asking his father to join them, when he realised why his father could not touch sunlight or enjoy it on his face. He had been a year old when his parents realised sunlight didn’t harm him; basically they had allowed a very, very slim ray of natural light into the room and swiped his hand beneath that. When he didn’t scream or cry, but instead gurgled happily, his parents had given him a room with a window where the sun came through each morning. In some ways, growing up with a dhampir child had been an experiment for them as well. His father was the most knowledgeable man he knew and even Vlad had been confounded when it came to explaining his own child’s existence. Vampires could not breed with humans; he was, in all senses of the word, a miracle. 

Ever since his mother had died and the onset of his father’s madness, he felt more cursed than anything else. The light on the window panes intensified, grew redder. And suddenly Adrian realised that he was late to fetch you. 

Drifting down the yawning pit into the belly of the Hold, he had to stop himself from picturing you falling, the look of sheer surprise on your face which morphed into white fear. Adrian could move at inhuman speeds and even then you had fallen for seconds before he reached you, pulling you away from the collapsing debris, shielding you in his arms and feeling just how fragile you were, how delicate. How mortal. A vampire could have fallen all the way down and gotten up to dust its sleeves off. You would have fallen down and died. And that would have been the end of it. You would be gone forever. You may have been a Morris but you had inherited the Belmont gene for plucky idiocy. And Adrian had inherited a vampire’s fear of death. No one feared the latter like immortal beings, especially vampires with their excessive appetites, their sheer will to dominate, their craving for power for days without end. Death brought all of that to a finite close, it was a door that no one could open once it had been shut. No one felt that more keenly than beings who defied it, who knew what it was like to live forever and that feeling was encoded in his cells, passed on to him by his father. 

Holding you like that had been dangerous. You had been completely in his power, the way you clung to him made him all too aware of the difference in strength, speed, how disadvantaged you were because you were trapped in mid-air with only him holding you up. Your helplessness was some kind of natural trigger, the way dogs pursued anything fleeing, the way a cat would eye the twitching feathers of a bird. The manner in which you defied him put you in danger in a way that you couldn’t possibly understand, especially given the fear your display had sparked in him and the rage which followed after. Such dark feelings he knew did not come from his mother’s side. The urge to bite you to force your submission had been almost overwhelming, as was the possessiveness he felt. He knew vampires kept human slaves and enjoyed ordering them about. He would never do that to you, would rather die first because it was such a repulsive thing for one being to do to another but that feeling that you were his now because he had given you his time and you made him feel something other than cold endless sorrow had shaken him so badly he hadn’t been able to sleep for three nights. 

And yet he would not take your advice to build a contraption enabling you to get in and out without him. Maybe he was a glutton for punishment. Maybe it was some kind of foolish test to prove to himself that his human side was stronger than his vampiric nature. It was also possible that he feared an accident occurring while you were using said contraption and he wouldn’t know until he found your body on the ground. The only reason why he had known you were there that day was because of the wards he had placed; your presence had triggered them. Then there was that look in your eyes when he flew you down to the bottom and then up to the surface, a wonder that never dimmed and it was then that you looked at him like he was something wonderful, even when you were upset with him. He had grown up incredibly privileged but with that came the burden of knowing how most people would react to him. His mother was the only human who never shunned him. Trevor and Sypha too, initially because they had needed him and later because mutual respect had developed. You were the only other one, born from a Clan that you had told him would exterminate him on principle. 

It still galled him that you wouldn’t tell him what you were doing, and that your initial foray had been tantamount to sneaking in and hoping you could devise a way out without ever letting him know you had been to the Hold. That was the only reason he could conceive of as to why you didn’t want his help. And why you wouldn’t tell him what you were looking for. You wouldn’t even let him know which books you had been checking. When he sniffed the air, he couldn’t locate your scent at any specific shelf because you had taken pains to walk around the place regularly, foiling any attempt of his to snoop. You would even keep the books away before he came to get you. At the very least, he knew for certain now that you weren’t making use of him. That thought was unbearable.

Today you were nowhere in sight. What arrested his attention more was the display shelf that contained more than forty vampire skulls. ‘Had contained,’ he corrected himself. It was now empty. Next to it was a huge locked chest; he didn’t have to lift the lid to know what it contained. You had emptied out the remains of his people, taken as trophies by your own. Then he spotted your reflection in the glass. He didn’t turn around, you merely stared at each other like that. You looked slightly smug; this was one of a handful of times that you had managed to sneak up on him. Yet apprehension shadowed your face, made tense the lines of your shoulders. There were dark circles under your eyes, they had already been there since the second day you went into the Hold and they had grown larger and more prominent. And you had lost weight. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” you said softly, disrupting his scrutiny of you. “But I thought that since the Hold is now yours, those,” you indicated to the chest and the now barren shelf, “might be somewhat offensive. Since you’ve been clearing out the corpses, I thought we could remove the skulls and bury them somewhere.”

“It did bother me when I first came down here. A library dedicated to the extermination of my people.” You opened your mouth but he beat you to it. “At least I thought of it that way, until Trevor showed me otherwise by leaving me the custodian of all that is contained here. It’s not about the destruction of vampires or night creatures. It’s about defending the helpless from evil, in whatever form or fashion.”

“That’s a positive way of looking at it, a wiser way.” 

Your smile was sweet and tentative, an olive branch. Somewhere inside his chest, his heart warmed and Adrian was thankful that your sense of hearing was mortal, that you couldn’t hear the quick uneven flickering of it speeding up. “Are you all right? You look…tired.”

“I am tired. And hungry.” As if on cue, your stomach growled loudly enough for mortal ears to detect the sound. “Sorry,” you winced, hand rubbing your belly in a way that he found mildly distracting. “I haven’t eaten lunch and I need to compensate with dinner.”

“You haven’t eaten?”

“I work best on an empty stomach.”

“And what exactly are you working on?” You were standing next to a bookshelf with an especial focus on alchemy. But knowing you, that might have been a deliberate attempt at misdirection. 

Tension flooded the air between you. This was the original source of the quarrel. 

“I’m memorising.” It made him recall the first day you had met—you couldn’t have known that he was on the other side of the door while you were hammering away on it. It was as much an answer as it was a non-answer. It was also downright intriguing. 

“Memorising?”

He turned when you walked up to him, as serious as you had ever been. When you extended your hand to his, he didn’t know quite what to make of it. “I want your word that whatever I tell you next stays a secret for the rest of your life. Swear to me, on your honour.”

There was no hesitation when he grasped your hand as you both solemnly shook on it. You had such small wrists, more suited to the hands of a spellcaster than a sword-wielder. Then you let him go, folded your arms around yourself like a protective band and took a deep breath. You were, he realised, bracing yourself. 

“I don’t claim to know what it was like growing up in your family. But I imagine your father must have loved your mother very much, if his hatred of my kind was any indication of the love he bore her.” You looked at him with eyes that saw too much. “Your childhood must have been a good one, despite all that happened after the loss of her. She raised you well, and that could have come only from love. You loved your father too, else you would have taken that castle apart brick by brick.”

When he realised you were waiting to see if you were correct, he gave you a slight nod. It was all he could manage. 

“In my family…” You hesitated, looked up, as if there were answers in the air to be plucked out. “In my world, marrying for love is a rare luxury. When you are building a Clan of monster hunters, certain attributes are desirable. Strength, fitness, a clean bill of health in terms of family history. Intelligence, the smarter the better. A natural propensity for weapons. You’ve seen Trevor fight. What’s your assessment?”

Adrian had long ago concluded Trevor Belmont was one of the finest warriors he had ever seen or would ever see. In his hand, the whip was an extension of the body, singing almost with a mind of its own that was perfectly in tune with his. Only two people had ever cut him open: Dracula and Trevor. He told you as much. 

“See what I mean? If you want to fight monsters, you need the best soldiers. And apart from recruiting them through marriage, it also helps if you—” You hesitated, then forged on. “If you breed them.” 

Suddenly, Trevor’s cryptic remark about his family made so much more sense. 

“Maybe don’t look so horrified?” you snapped before wilting. “Sorry, you have a right to express yourself and it is fucking awful, isn’t it? Marrying just to produce the strongest and the best. It’s not so much a family as it is being part of an army. How fucked up is that?” The sharp laugh you gave was utterly devoid of mirth. Your spread out your hands, eyes faraway and he wondered where you went, where you were really. “I’m a little bit of a failure actually. I’m good but only nearly as good as Trevor on my best days. I can’t cast a spell to save my soul. Compared to my cousins, I’m just lucky that my parents actually love me. What I am excellent at though, is memorising. I only have to read a page once to remember it forever. I don’t necessarily understand it, but I can reproduce it down to the last diagram and word.” 

You looked at him then but he said nothing. He didn’t ask, had a sudden instinct that this was one of those times when not pushing would yield answers. He was right.

“Trevor’s not around to help me. The trail went cold here and I can’t spend more time chasing him down, not when there’s an alternative to be had. It’s a spell that I want, Adrian. A spell that doesn’t exist, to the best of my knowledge. I need to remember enough so that it can be constructed.” You turned away then, shifted your body, angling your face such that your eyes were hidden from him. That was all you were going to say. He had the feeling you were already regretting telling him too much.

His mother had taught him that trust worked both ways. “Have dinner with me.” He sounded as startled as you looked. The words had come out with a will of their own. “At the castle.”

You looked torn, then your face hardened, as if you were going to refuse. You were pulling away from him.

“Please.”

There it was, that chink in your armour. But maybe only for him. “All right,” you replied and within your chest, he could hear your heart flutter. It was a good thing you couldn’t hear his.


	9. A Moth to a Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, here's one last update for this week! Thanks so very much reading and leaving comments, kudos and bookmarking this story. I'm super-stoked by the response, and my Muse has been working overtime. I've added some extra tags, thanks to a couple of you who pointed out "Adventure!" As always, I hope you enjoy this.  
> ______________________________________________________________________________

If the house was a reflection of the man… You gulped slightly, taking in the huge cavernous arched walls of the castle. Candelabras lay on either side, misshapen from the great fall they had suffered. A thick crumpled ornate crimson and gold carpet stretched for what looked like a mile and more into the bowels of the great hall. When you stepped in, the hair on your arms and neck rose; your hand fell to the pommel of your sword which you learned very early on in life never to go anywhere without, unless you were in the safety of your own home and not alone. Lightly, your fingers traced the slender silver chain and locket attached to it. Adrian never looked behind; he was a few steps ahead of you but you had the feeling he knew, nonetheless. The beautifully curved ornate staircase you climbed and when you looked down, you saw the remnants of pieces of armour lying here and there. Water stains marked the parts of the floor that were bare and then you realised why you were on edge: the air smelled very faintly of stale blood and ash. 

Ghosts, you thought. This place was full of them. Light might come in through the multitude of windows; it was present in those strange wondrous lamps filled with white flame which did not flicker—lightning, Adrian explained. But there was no warmth. This castle which had once been a monument to Dracula was now a mausoleum for Adrian. There wasn’t enough holy water to exorcise what lingered here. Even if you moved an entire town in, it would still feel lonely. ‘How does Adrian…why would Adrian…?’ 

You passed room after room, followed him through winding corridors and straight ones. You glimpsed the forest outside and Belmont Manor at times. Most of the rooms were in some state of disarray: books shaken from shelves, paintings knocked down, dust seemed to be omnipresent. Some rooms were just destroyed and your eyes widened when you took in the fact that whole walls were knocked down, some were so covered in cracks it was a miracle they were still standing. Claw marks that looked like they had been made by a wild beast were gouged into solid stone. Above you, there was a gigantic hole in the ceiling. You didn’t need Adrian to explain the narrative to you: obviously there had been a tremendous fight between Dracula, Trevor, Sypha and Adrian. For once, the description ‘shaking the building’s foundations’ was not a gross exaggeration. Walking past this day after day was like mental flagellation. How in the fucking hell was Adrian going to move on with the rest of his life if he kept the tormenting past so perfectly preserved—‘Oh.’ Your eyes settled on the tall golden-haired man, burnished by the last rays of the setting sun, and the long thin shadows it threw behind him. You knew why. 

Stepping into the kitchen was like stepping into a different world. Stunned, you paused for a moment. The latticed windows were large and beautifully carved with patterns; copper pots and pans so clean that you see your own reflection in them added warmth. Two huge marble sinks atop a polished wood counter took up on side of the room and there was a perfectly flourishing potted plant adding a lovely touch of green to the room. A large dining table and five chairs took place of pride in the room. Next to it was a smaller countertop with drawers that you suspected held the cutlery and crockery; a tray of empty wineglasses and two bottles sat atop it. The sight of the five glasses made you sad, made Adrian’s solitude even starker. And further to the right, directly opposite the table was…

“Ah.”

Ignoring Adrian, you stared at the two stuffed dolls and went closer to examine them. The dhampir called your name but you waved him off. It was clear immediately to you, despite the spoons for arms, ladles for legs and identical buttons for eyes, who was whom. You just wondered where Adrian managed to find the material for their clothes and hair, and…how painfully lonely he must have been to have made dolls of his only two friends in the world because if there had been other friends, he would have undoubtedly made dolls of those as well. Behind you, he was so still you couldn’t even hear him breathing. “Did you deliberately make mini-Trevor look drunk? Because he certainly looks that way to me.” You turned around, the corner of your mouth pulled up in a half grin. “And with those two bottles right next to him as well…”

“Well, he did smell quite strongly of beer when we first met.” 

“Ah, why am I not surprised. Hopefully Sypha can keep him out of his cups. Although knowing Trevor, he’s bound to fuck up one day and let slip that he thinks beer is better than sex.” Reaching out, you nudged mini-Sypha and mini-Trevor together until they were practically in each other’s’ laps. “I’ll wager that’s a more accurate portrayal of what’s going on now between those two. Although this position is a little bit boring. Maybe…” You reached for them, only to find both your wrists caught gently in Adrian’s large hand. But he was smiling, the corners of his eyes turned up, his eyes the gold of summer leaves.

“Stop desecrating the dolls.” 

You laughed, extricating yourself from him before grabbing a chair and sliding yourself into it. “So, what’s for dinner?” 

While Adrian stripped the pheasant he had caught and clean out its entrails, he made you cut leeks, peel potatoes and onions (you complained it was only because he wanted to see you cry), and smash some garlic. Then everything went into a large pot filled with bone broth and while the food simmered over the fire, you poured two glasses of wine while Adrian set out two large bowls, spare plates and cutlery. Lisa Tepes, God rest her soul, had raised a son she could be proud of. If all men were like Adrian, there would be a lot more happy marriages. You toasted her silently as you drank and thought about the man that Vlad Tepes had been. Most fathers would have kicked their sons out of the kitchen; it wasn’t a man’s place, quite literally. But he hadn’t minded; you rather liked the notion that he might have even encouraged it. But even then, the spectre of what he was to you and every single monster hunter out there loomed too large to be ignored. 

“Did your mother teach you how to cook?” You looked up from the wine you had been swirling gently to see Adrian observing you. 

“Not so much cook as to avoid poisoning myself with food,” you replied dryly. “Outdoor survival skills were far more important than domestic duties. Knowing what herbs and fruits I could eat, how to bring down game and clean it. Building a fire; covering the evidence of it. After all, I wasn’t made to stay at home.” There was a mild edge to your words. “And those are the skills I’ve got to pass down to any offspring I have. Eventually.”

“Offspring?” Adrian’s smooth brow furrowed. 

Putting down the glass gently, you slid it towards him, a silent request for a refill since the bottle was nearer to him, something you were certain he had done deliberately. “I’m the last child of my family. It falls to me to eventually end up in the matrimonial way and pass down the skills and teachings of my branch of the Morris family.” While slightly paraphrased, it was a perfect imitation of your father. 

“And is that something you want?”

You watched as the red wine sloshed down into the clear glass, watched its graceful swirls. “It’s my parents’ wishes. What I want,” you slid the glass back to yourself, “is inconsequential.” And with those words you felt the dark cloud which hovered over the castle enter the warm room. Fuck, what were you doing? “I’m guessing you spent a lot of time here in this kitchen with your mother.”

It was such a clumsy change of subject that you cringed inwardly but Adrian graciously went along with it. “With both my parents.”

Now that was a fucking surprise. More like a shock actually. Your reaction was plain as day, something Adrian seemed to enjoy. “Food of course, was not a necessity for my father. But my mother enjoyed cooking and it pleased him very much to indulge her. And I needed to eat as well. It was either that or blood.” Long fingers traced the stem of his glass. “And my mother would not permit that. So she made sure my father knew how to prepare some food; she wasn’t always here. She had a house where she treated people. If she had brought them here, they would likely have perished from heart attacks.”

“So what could your father cook then?” On some level, it was a shock to your system to be talking so casually, even politely about a legendary vampire that used to give you nightmares until another vampire took his place in them. But it pleased Adrian so visibly to share this side of his father with someone else. You tried not to think of the dolls on the shelf behind you, tried not to think of Adrian having imaginary conversations with them. Vlad Tepes was the other face that the world had not known, that aspect of Dracula that a highly intelligent unconventional woman had fallen in love with and out of that love came Adrian. The legend of Dracula had already been an enduring one before his marriage, just as it would endure after his death. But in that lull between the horrors had been a happy marriage and that was the man that Adrian had known until Lisa’s death had caused him to change. ‘To revert,’ your vampire-slaying instinct insisted. You might not have been able to fully comprehend it but all that was needed from you was to listen. 

Apparently Dracula was a dab hand in the kitchen. Of fucking course he would be. He had been a genius according to all the stories you had digested at your parents’ knees and the books you had studied. And now this castle…it was full of magic but there were so many books inside it as well. ‘Science,’ Adrian had mentioned when you asked him about the lamps. Somehow Dracula had invented a system to generate and keep lightning within this castle to provide light and energy at all times of the day and night. ‘Maybe not so much a building but a machine.’ What wonders it could have made, what horrors it had wrought. 

***

Adrian wasn’t blind to your reactions. He was possessed of instincts far sharper than an ordinary human or even vampire, and you were, truth be told, a terrible liar. You couldn’t even maintain a poker face. How strange and alien it was to you, who had been raised to exterminate his kind, who had been fed the horrors committed by his father’s hand, to sit here and listen to how human the monster could actually be. 

You were trying though, listening with such courteous concentration that you hadn’t even blinked in the last minute. The wine in your glass was quite untouched. The full force of your bright eyes was focused entirely on him and it was clear that you had no idea the effect it was having on his pulse. You were, Adrian decided, quite exceptional, as was your valiant attempt to be open-minded, as much as someone with your background could be. He didn’t expect you to understand or empathise. He just wanted someone who listened and he suspected that you had grasped as much. And besides, it had been another lifetime ago since a conversation had been held in this room. 

When you had first arrived, he had ordered you off the premises. Now, he was of an entirely different mind. Now, he found himself wondering how much longer you would stay if Trevor and Sypha did not return soon. Over your shoulder, in the background, the dolls peeked and for the first time, conflicting feelings arose within him. On the one hand, he wanted very much to see them again; he owed them a great deal. Above all, they were his friends. But their arrival would mean your departure. From there a single feeling crystallised into a clear thought and Adrian felt a tremor run down his spine. 

He did not want you to leave. But eventually you would. Your words turned over and over in his mind. 

_…I can’t just sit on my arse and do nothing. Not anymore._

Time for you here was running out. Dread coiled in Adrian’s gut like a constricting snake, cold and crushing.

“Adrian?”

He blinked, realised you were staring at him with concern. “Yes?”

“You were telling me about the competition your mother and father were having. So whose dish did you pronounce the winner?” 

Had he? He couldn’t remember telling you that. You looked like you belonged here, in this room, where he could hear you breathe and listen to the beat of your heart and your voice and know that he wasn’t alone, that there was more to just guarding secrets from the undeserving, uncertain if he could ever put that knowledge to good use. If he tried offering his father’s science to people, the Church would eventually catch wind of it and come after him, just as they had his mother. And in the wrong hands, his father’s work would be more of a curse than the blessing his mother had been so certain it would be. The secrets in the Belmont Hold were for no one save those who truly wanted to protect the weak and innocent from evil. And all that sat squarely on his shoulders. ‘Or rather like a ball and chain.’ Trevor and Sypha were far away and when you left, it would be the same thing over again. Loud silences wide and deep enough to drown in, walls closing in. Only this time, it would be so much worse. The thought pierced him sharper than any sword did. 

“Adrian!” 

The alarm in your voice dragged him out of his thoughts. He opened his mouth, intending to brush his sudden distraction aside. But words failed him. 

“Oh fuck,” you swore. A ferocious frown marred your forehead. With a sudden movement, you grabbed your glass and drained it in one gulp. Getting out of your chair, you came to a halt next to him. Then you grabbed his glass and emptied that down your throat as well. “I am not in the habit of doing this,” you said, still glowering. “But I think you need it.”

The hug was entirely unexpected. You swooped down so quickly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, the softness of your cheek and hair pressed against his. Was that shuddering breath coming from him? Apparently so, because your arms tightened. Fingers touched the back of his skull, tugging gently through his hair. “Oh Adrian, it will be okay. You will be all right.” 

You said nothing when he slipped his arms around you, pulling you onto his lap. You just held him as he buried his face against your neck, breathing in the smell of your skin and the rich scent of your blood, so sweet, a scent that was uniquely yours. The wet heat of tears wasn’t something he could stop and he held on to you like a man drowning would a lifeline. And still the words would not come because not even he knew what they were for, only that they couldn’t be kept in anymore. There was a place for them here, with you. 

When he finally stopped shaking, when his breathing steadied and resumed its normal pace, you pulled back a little, sweeping half-moons over his face to dry the evidence of his sorrow. A cold spot in the room, Sypha had called him. Full of sadness like a bottomless icy well that swallowed everything which was poured into it. No wonder he was drawn to you like a moth to a flame, a headlong rush, a wave he could not slow. You pulled him in with the tenderness lining your face, the wonder which softened your eyes, the heated flare of desire manifested in the parting of your lips. His hands, curved around your shoulders, tightened. “Please,” he whispered, the word barely more than a breath. 

You hesitated. Then your mouth was pressed sweetly against his. ‘Yes.’ It was more prayer than thought as he held the weight of you in his arms, tasting more than the wine on both your lips. ‘Yes.’


	10. Changing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, here's another chapter! I hope you enjoy it just as you have the ones before. Thanks so much for all the comments, kudos and bookmarks. My Muse feeds off them and I appreciate all the support you've given. :)  
> ___________________________________________________________________________

You had never kissed anyone so chastely before. Even your first kiss had been all excitable tongues and open mouths, not because you were thrilled to be kissing the boy of your dreams—you had been thirteen after all—but because you had reached that milestone. And after that, you never looked back. While you certainly didn’t fall into bed with every man you saw, you were a woman who wasn’t afraid to take her pleasures where she could find them. Battling creatures of the night on a regular basis meant you danced with death more closely and frequently than the average person did and sex was basically your way of saying “not today” to death. Besides, you needed an outlet to work off either the fever of battle victories or to numb the pain of loss. Why lick your wounds alone when someone else could?

But Adrian…he was the one holding you. If he wanted to, he could crush you as easily as he would glass. So why did you feel like you were the one with all the power, like you could twist him apart with the hands you were using to cup his face, like he would fall to pieces if you kissed him a little harder. Pulling back slightly, he trembled as you breathed softly on his mouth. Golden eyes framed by honey dark lashes opened slowly. Then it was your turn to tremble. On his face, your hands shook and he reached up to cover them with his. No one had ever looked at you like that and somehow you knew no one ever would. It was like winter-bitten lands catching a first glimpse of spring, like flowers growing on the edge of darkness reaching sunlight. All that and more was in Adrian’s eyes and all you could think of was what had you done by giving him a kiss that couldn’t be undone. Outside the warm walls of the room, the reality of the world, of your worlds loomed in, tall shadows you couldn’t ignore. 

Until Adrian leaned forward, warm gaze flickering from your eyes to your mouth and back again, soft and bright, hesitant yet bold and you shut out the doubts and worries driving themselves like shards through your mind and let him kiss you. This time it was his lips moulding to yours, his fingers sliding between your own to twine together and that drew a shudder, pulled a gasp that opened your mouth against his. No one needs to be told how to show love. It is an instinct that drives, that defines, that teaches all on its own. His tongue slipped past your lips, searching, entering, an imitation of his body surging forward to press against yours. 

One kiss became two, then three, then more. Each time you broke apart, each time you thought to end it, he pulled you in, riptide strong, the world behind your closed eyes hot and red with his taste in your mouth, like a night sky flecked with the scarlet golden ash of a wildfire blown by the wind as it consumes a forest. When he rolled his hips against the curve of your thigh, you bit down, tasted sweet and copper. He snapped back then, eyes wide, wild, a tiny crescent of red staining his bottom lip. His mouth curled, a half snarl he couldn’t contain that flared like lightning through your body. And you leapt off him, faster than you expected, almost stumbling before you righted yourself. Your hands twitched, closing and opening, as if feeling for him, as if protesting against sudden emptiness. 

“We can’t, Adrian,” you blurted out. “I can’t.” Your family would kill you. Well, not literally. But they would kill Adrian. They would never stop hunting him if they knew what had just transpired between you and the dhampir. And if they found out he was the son of Dracula… 

He was out of his chair now, coming towards you slowly, as if you were something feral that he had cornered. “Don’t,” you warned. Your body still hummed and singed with his touch and you knew just how weak you were. This was not something you could draw a sword on and fight off. You wanted him so badly you could feel it between your teeth and in your bones. 

“I’m not going to…” He reached for you; your jaw clenched as you started backing away. “Please don’t go.” Fear slashed over his face, stopped you cold. “Don’t leave.”

You could hear unspoken words echoing after that. Everyone leaves, you thought. Everyone he knew had somehow left him. You would leave him one day too. ‘But not today.’ Only then did it occur to your dazed brain that you had somehow allowed yourself to cross over into unknown territory, that you were in a place that none of your substantial experience with the opposite sex could have prepared you for. ‘Because this isn’t about sex,’ you thought, rather belatedly and stupidly. Fuck. You were in so much trouble. Standing at one end of the kitchen, staring at the apprehensive man who had frozen in place the moment he realised how close you were to running, you had no idea what the fuck this was. Or rather, you did have an inkling of what this might be but if you tugged on that thread and followed it all the way to the end of that line, you might actually turn tail and flee. 

The only thing holding you in place was how shattered Adrian would be if you abandoned him like that. Yet you couldn’t trust yourself, didn’t know how much you could trust him. God, the things he could do to you and how easily you would let him. It didn’t take a sage to know that this…thing…that was between you and him, that stretched easily across the distance you had put between both of you…it wouldn’t end well. There was no happily ever after, not that that notion had ever appeared on your horizon. Exhaling shakily, you resisted the urge to run a hand over your face. “What now?” you asked, hating how uncertain you sounded. Looking at Adrian was quite unbearable. He had schooled his face into an impassive mask but you knew him well enough to see hope mingled with fear. What a dreadful person you were, to offer him something you knew could not be given. 

“I did…I did ask you over for a meal.” And with that, he turned around and went back to the pot of pheasant stew that had been left cooking on the stove. 

Oh, so now the both of you were going to pretend that nothing had ever happened. ‘Good luck with that,’ you thought grimly. Still, what was the alternative? Steeling yourself, you sat back down in your chair. But not before you filled your wineglass to the brim. That way, if you really did something stupid, like lunge at Adrian and drag him on top of the table so that the two of you could fuck each other’s brains out, at least you could blame the alcohol. Only that was a truly terrible thought. You gulped, wondering about the aftermath of such an encounter. This wasn’t one of those times when you could saunter out of the inn before the man who had helped warm your rented bed awakened. Neither did you think Adrian would be one to appreciate the benefits of casual sex, not after that kiss. Not after the way he looked at you. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fucking fuck. The one time you really needed alcohol. And you weren’t going to allow yourself to touch it. 

***

Outwardly, Adrian was utterly composed, as were you. Conversation was stilted, something painfully awkward but unavoidable given how the evening had progressed and Adrian had to resist the urge to squeeze the dinner knife and fork in his hands. The metal had already warped slightly and he didn’t want to do anything that would alarm you or give you reason to leave. 

What had he been thinking, he berated himself silently, looking at you from beneath his lashes. You hadn’t touched your wine at all and you looked so sombre, just as you had back in the library. The both of you had just patched up your quarrel and now this… Metal warped and Adrian quickly put the knife down. Dinner was almost over anyway. In lieu of conversation, both of you had opted to clean your plates out, like diligent children. 

“Since you cooked, I’ll wash.” In the tense silence, those words sounded strange. You didn’t wait for him to agree, simply began stacking plates and bowls which you balanced with one hand. In the other, you carried your full glass, which both of you pretended not to see. You moved like a woman on a mission. Until you got to the sink. You looked left, then right. Your mouth pursed, a sign of your confusion and it was with great restraint that Adrian refused to imagine getting up and using his arms to cage you in as you stood there. He refused to contemplate the sweet warm taste of your skin, the supple curve of your neck, the way your body would press back into him—

“Adrian, where’s the water?” 

He made sure to keep a reasonable amount of distance from you but he could feel how hyper-aware you were of him. But all that dissipated when he reached for the tap and turned the gilded knob at its base. Water gushed out and you jerked back slightly. “Where…How…?” You reached for it, let it run over the tips of your fingers. Then you laughed, delighted. “It’s hot!” 

“Keep your hand there,” he said. Then he turned the knob the other way, waiting to see your reaction when the cold water touched them. This time, your mouth fell open completely. Adrian refused to imagine kissing you senseless; he refused to think of the heated ache building in his groin. He did, however, have to adjust his stance while showing you how to control the temperature and explaining to you the wonders of heating water via gas so that you wouldn’t know what he was refusing to think about. He then had to explain how the pipes ran throughout the castle. “Fuck,” you said, astounded, visibly trying to wrap your head around his words. He reminded himself that you merely meant it as an oath, not a suggestion.

Science, Adrian had a preternatural inkling, would one day replace magic. The latter was for the gifted, those learned in the arts of sorcery. It was also becoming increasingly uncommon. But science…science was something that any intelligent person could grasp, that even the less intelligent could be taught. Vlad Dracula Tepes and Lisa Tepes had been two outsiders existing outside the fringes of society. But one day, someone powerful and intelligent enough, curious enough and daring enough would break through the boundaries that his father had crushed. Then the Church and the nobles would be forced to accept science for what it was. Science would shape the world, change buildings, create medicine. Men and women would not live such short and miserable lives.

But for tonight, what Adrian thought most wonderful about science was that it enabled him to find a topic which both of you could easily enjoy, that served as a distraction from the aftermath of a kiss he still felt. He showed you the engine room, the great wheels, the massive gears, studied you as you studied the huge structures, mechanical towers contained within the walls of the castle they had served. Even semi-melted by Sypha’s magic, they were still impressive, as solid and imposing as mountains, whispering wonders and stirring the imagination. “I have to meet Sypha,” you muttered. “She’s bloody impressive.” Then you turned to him. “And so was your father, to have constructed all this.”

He wanted to kiss you then. He wanted you in his arms. Was this how it was always going to be? “I can’t,” you had said. He knew why, knew it as well as you. He was immortal and you were mortal. He was the son of a vampire, a dhampir, the very thing you had been raised to kill. He knew the power of family, those close bonds that forever bound you to them, regardless of whether it was love or hate or both, and knew just how much power yours had over you. His mother had fallen in love with a man the world hated and feared. And he—Adrian stopped short, cut that thought off with all the brutal force that he could muster. That was not a path he wanted to go down, not tonight. Not so soon. Not when he knew what your answer already was. 

He realised that you had wandered off further along the narrow walkway, moving with sure grace and ease, as if unaware of the sheer drop on either side. You paused at the large hole created when his father had punched him through a solid stone wall. Your hands ran over the shattered stone, tracing its sharp edges. Adrian didn’t move. “So I’m assuming that you and your father fought all the way up here and down there.” You inclined your head, looking down into the darkened corridor. There, he had not repaired the lights. “Where does this lead?”

To the heart of his nightmares. “Past that corridor is my childhood room. That was where I killed him. I used a broken post from the bed he had made with his hands to stake my own father in the heart.” The words went screaming out into the silence, branding his ears like red-hot coals. For too long he had held them in. “And he let me.” His hands curled into fists. Through the huge floor to ceiling window, now bereft of glass, marred by the broken remains of metal frames, the cold night and the pale moon streamed in. 

“It sounds to me like he wanted to die.” 

When had you gotten so close? You were standing before him now, within arms’ reach. “I told him as much just minutes before. Knowing I was right does not make me feel better.”

“It’s not meant to make you feel better. Maybe it’s just enough to stop you from feeling worse.” You looked back down the tunnel and then switched your gaze to him. “Maybe he remembered who he was, the man your mother had made of him. And that he loved you.”

Adrian clenched his jaw so hard that pain spiked up his temples. His lips peeled back like a wolf’s, baring his teeth, his fangs sliding further out. “Don’t you think I know that?” You were as still as a marble statue. “I would rather have killed him while he was breaking my bones and trying to gouge my heart out. Instead I killed the father I had hoped would come back, who did come back. That was who I killed, not Dracula the monster waging a genocidal war on humanity!”

His breathing sounded more like the savage snarl of a beast, his lungs wrenching in air only for him to exhale it through sharp teeth. 

“It’s not your fault Adrian.” You moved to touch him but he jerked away. 

“I tell myself that every day. It doesn’t make the guilt any less.” The world splintered into a thousand silver shards. Roughly, he wiped the tears away. “Nothing does.” His mother had told him once that after her death, there would be only him and his father, that they would only have each other. His father would be beside himself with grief, she had predicted. She had asked that Adrian help him through it. Unfortunately, the death she had been envisioning was a natural one brought on by old age. She hadn’t told him what to do in case she was murdered and his father went mad with revenge. 

“He didn’t leave you a choice. He made a choice; he asked to die. If he could have done it himself, he would have but he couldn’t. So you had to help him.” 

Your words struck him so hard they seemed to lance his very heart. “What?” 

“You had to help him. I’m sorry it had to be you, that it could only have been you. He loved you enough to remember who you were, who he was. He let you kill him so that you would live. I don’t think,” you bit your lip, squaring your shoulders before carrying on. “I don’t think you should be punishing yourself for that.”

For the longest time, both of you just stood there, silence flowing in and out through the spaces between you. A sigh escaped you, one that he only heard because of his heightened vampiric senses. “Just consider that. Please.” 

Then you left and he was alone, and though the ground was firm and solid beneath his feet, Adrian had the strangest feeling that the axis of his world had shifted. 

Something was changing.


	11. Two Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, here's another chapter which I hope you enjoy. Thanks for all your comments, kudos and bookmarks! As fun as it is to write this story, it wouldn't be the same without you. :) And there's a reference to The Last Unicorn and its sequel. The former is one of my all-time favourite books. I watched the cartoon as a kid and the world was just not the same after that.  
> ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Apart from showing up to bring you in and out of the Hold, Adrian and you did not interact with each other in the days that followed and frankly, that was something that you had no issue with. He didn’t look angry with you, neither did he look happy. His face had gone back to being an inscrutable mask and you had given up trying to study it. You weren’t certain if you had overstepped a boundary but you had said what you felt was a truth that needed to be said aloud and it was not in your nature to apologise for it, or to regret it. When doubt came, you shoved it aside and stood your ground. It was understandable but wrong of Adrian to punish himself for something his father had made him do. Grieving was a natural response, could even be healing. But he couldn’t torment or bury himself with it. 

But then again, pain was something private and maybe Adrian did not appreciate you analysing his and offering your two cents worth, no matter how sincerely or gently you had tried to give it. You were trying to help but… Tiredly, you rubbed your eyes with the backs of your hands, blinking when you realised how low the torches in the small study room had gotten. “But the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Sometimes, that was true. Or maybe Adrian needed some space to process what you had told him. Stretching, you reached your arms up, heard your shoulders pop. Rotating your neck to get the stiffness out, you wiggled your ankles before cracking your knuckles. With a small sigh, you looked at the last book remaining from the pile of twenty you had brought with you. It was untitled but had the same rich leather cover as the others. Today, you had decided to read up on monster physiology, particularly those who could regenerate or respawn with especial swiftness. And as always, to fool Adrian, you had taken books to do with herbology and forging weaponry, subjects that had nothing to do with what you needed. You had told him enough and you had no intention of letting him know more than he should. You loved your parents but God help you and Adrian if they ever got wind of his existence. They had an uncanny knack for knowing when you were hiding something from them and the more you kept Adrian out of your business, the better you could protect him. 

“Focus,” you chided yourself when you realised that you had been staring at the unopened book before you for more than a minute. You had a job to complete, the most important one in your entire life. Maybe this was the book, maybe it had the clues you were looking for. Maybe that was why it had no title; it held such vital information that its author had decided against naming it for fear of such sacred knowledge falling into the wrong hands. Determination and a renewed sense of energy swelled your chest and straightened your spine. Dramatically, you flung open the book. The first page was blank. You flipped it to the second and third pages.

And let out a half-yelp, more of shock than horror. The two pages were covered in minute scribblings. Accompanying said scribblings were many pictures. They weren’t large but as if to compensate for that, the author had drawn them in extraordinarily clear detail. Quite unable to accept what you were already realising, you flipped to the next two pages. And the next two. By the time you came to the conclusion that this truly was a book dedicated to the subject, it was too late. You had already seen more twenty-four hand-drawn penises and read six spells for increasing girth, length and one on resurrecting a penis from erectile disfunction. “What the fuck,” you snapped, slamming the book shut. Then you thought about it for two seconds before flipping back to that same page. There had been something about endowing a penis with the stamina of a horse, bull and lion combined—

“Are you—”

Your ears recognised the voice but your reaction was pure muscle memory. With your right hand you flung the book in the direction of what your senses perceived to be an intruder; with your left, you let loose a throwing knife. 

Adrian caught the book easily and used it as a shield to knock the projectile aside. 

“What the fuck, Adrian?” you growled, sinking back into your chair, releasing your half-drawn blade so that it slipped fully back into its sheath. 

“As I was saying, are you sure you aren’t a Belmont?” He eyed the book with a mix of humour and mild distaste before tossing it onto the table. 

You rolled your eyes, trying not to show how pathetically pleased you were that Adrian was finally speaking to you again. “I’m a Morris. We have a nose for money and a penchant for making it. That there,” you pointed at the innocuous looking book, “is a veritable source of unending wealth. There are always men who want bigger cocks, longer cocks, cocks that won’t wilt after one orgasm, men who are willing to pay for that. And some women,” you added thoughtfully, “after all, the female of my species needs to be satisfied too.” 

“Are you talking about yourself?” Adrian asked, a clear edge to his voice. He stepped past the entrance now, coming to a halt when he reached the table, leaning his hip against it. You tried your best to keep your eyes above his neck and not focused on that thin tight shirt that hugged his muscles in all the right places, that you so often thought about peeling off with your teeth or ripping in half with your hands. 

“Me?” You shrugged carelessly, pretending not to know Adrian was jealous; half of you was thrilled by that, the other half, the more sensible half of you, was berating you for behaving like an idiot. “I don’t depend on a man to satisfy me. Not when I have these.” You held your hands up, wiggling your fingers, a wicked grin adorning your face. It widened when Adrian’s eyes rounded slightly, a faint blush staining those high cheekbones. For a moment, he looked slightly dazed and you would have paid a pretty amount of coin to know the thoughts running through his head. ‘Stop playing with fire,’ the loud voice of your remaining good sense, that hadn’t been much to begin with, ordered. ‘Do you want a repeat of the other night?’

Did you want Adrian to kiss you senseless, tear off your clothes and fuck you until you couldn’t move? Heaven and hell, of fucking course. Did you want to deal with the aftermath of that? No fucking way. So sulkily, you listened to good sense, dumped the penis spell book onto the pile of others before loading your arms with as many books as possible so that you could return them. “Sorry I’m late. I must have forgotten the time.”

Behind you, Adrian took the rest of the books you couldn’t carry, including one that you had read about with avid interest. Apparently gryphons had two hearts. If you stabbed one without killing the other, the beast wouldn’t die and if it escaped, the dead heart would regenerate in time because the other kept it alive. You had practically vibrated in your seat upon reading that. Now, you just tried to act as nonchalant about the fact that Adrian was holding something you had been studying. 

“Actually,” he said, walking past you to slip a book back two shelves away. “I’m somewhat early. There’s something I wanted to show you.” 

Since you were putting the penis spell book back, and given how Adrian’s innocent words could so easily fit into a salacious context, something your imagination was more than happy to supply, your mind made the shamefully quick leap to Adrian’s own cock. Thankfully, you were able to stop your eyes from following suit. “Oh?” 

“There are several libraries within the castle. You might find what you are looking for there.”

You slipped another three books back in place. A slight frown knitted your brows together. “Adrian…”

“This is not an attempt to uncover your secrets. You’ve made it clear you don’t want me directly involved and I respect that. However,” he disappeared around the corner but his voice was still clear, “I would like to offer the resources at my disposal.” Seconds later, he reappeared, arms emptied of books. “My father called on legions of night creatures. There was no other vampire—or human, I suspect— as skilled as he was in magic. You are a hunter of the former and it is the latter you seek. Perhaps going through his collections might aid you in your quest.” He came forward, slipping half the books in your arms away from you. “Don’t you think that idea has some merit?” 

It did, for certain. But what was also certain was that it would mean spending time in the castle with Adrian. And that… You looked down at the remaining books in your arms before raising your eyes. You couldn’t quite bring yourself to look at him, so you focused on his broad shoulder and the gracefully formed bones of his clavicle. 

“If you are worried about a repeat of what happened at dinner, don’t be.” His low voice reached you and you flinched slightly; if felt as if he had looked through your skull and seen the stormy thoughts brewing inside. “As I said, I will respect your choices.” He sounded fine, but there was something you could hear, a slight clip in the way the words spilled from him, tension roped around them. He turned and was walking away to a shelf further ahead when against your better judgement, you spoke. Logic dictated in vain that you shut up; instead you listened to your heart that ached at the thought of Adrian honestly believing that you truly didn’t want him. 

“Adrian…” Your fingers flexed, as if they would reach for him. You balled them into a fist, tucking them under the weight of the books. “You understand why we can’t, don’t you? It’s not because…” God how you hated emotional entanglements. In some ways, when the time came for you to get married, you had promised yourself not to invest emotionally in your husband. You would care for him, share his burdens, fight alongside with him but you would not love him. It was just too messy. The fact that you were deeply attracted to a beautiful dhampir with a gentle heart was an irony of ironies. Trevor sometimes said God liked to shit on him and in this case, it certainly felt like the same was happening to you. 

He turned slightly, profile illuminated by the light of the torches. “I understand. We are all, in the end, slaves to our family’s wishes.” 

The fact that it was true didn’t make his words feel any less than a punch to the gut. “And beyond that, you are going to live forever and I will die, whether it’s from old age, sickness, or the sword—most likely.” You had made your peace with that a long time ago, every hunter in the Clan had to. Those who lived by the sword died often enough by it to spawn that well-known homily. You had never before resented your mortality, only worried about old age taking your skills from you. All the more you burned brighter in the peak of your youth, all the more you grabbed life by the scruff of its neck and demanded it give you all you could take. But now here was Adrian, disturbing core cornerstones that held your life in balance. “We’re too different.”

He turned around, golden eyes brighter than the torches. “Death does not walk so far away from me as you think.” The pale raised scar across his chest which was visibly above the neckline of his shirt was a testament to that. 

“I know. But it will never walk with you the way it does me. You will never know the slow ache of decay that mortality brings. You can’t share that burden.” Not the way another human could. And that was not something you could shoulder alone. When the years took your agility, your beauty, Adrian would be untouched. As friends, you couldn’t give a fuck about that. But as lovers… That was a different thing altogether. 

That mask of impassivity cracked then. His throat worked convulsively, you heard the loud creak of leather, the pop of a book spine clenched too tightly by supernaturally strong fingers. “I do know the pain that mortality brings. Just not the way you do.” Then he disappeared behind the shelves, as did you.

‘Mortality?’ You scoffed. What the fuck did Adrian know about…Oh. Right. Mortal mother. Who had never been turned by Dracula because if she had been, she would have slaughtered the priests who arrested her. Or at the very least, she would have been able to escape from them. If you had been alone, you might have banged your head on the shelves or a book in an effort to exorcise the tremendous stupidity and insensitivity you had displayed. Still, the all more, his words confirmed to you exactly why the two of you should stay well behind the lines drawn between your species. When you didn’t, bad things happened, to put it mildly.

Because once upon a time, a Morris had not obeyed that golden rule. Which was why you were here now, three hundred years later, trying to undo the repercussions of that one’s mistake while dancing on the edge of your own personal disaster. There was no telling what would happen when a mortal allowed a vampire to turn them. It changed a human in fundamental ways that their mind perhaps could not cope with. Lisa Tepes had not permitted her husband to turn her, neither had he imposed it on her. That was confirmation enough of your theory. 

Your ancestor’s blood flowed in your veins, the same weakness. Adrian wasn’t the danger; it was yourself that you feared.


	12. The Bare Arms of Trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, here's another chapter and I hope you enjoy it. It was really lovely to hear what you liked and what you think could happen via comments, and also kudos and bookmarks. Updating is gonna be a little slow after this chapter but I should be able to upload another one in a couple of days. As always, I hope this entertains; do let me know what you think!  
> _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Several days had passed, several days of peace and quiet. Sure, your heart jumped a little each time Adrian appeared and it took you several seconds to get it under control even when he left. You hated that, knowing full well how sharp vampiric hearing was. It was the very reason why you had been trained to move quietly almost as soon as you could walk as a child, and to control your emotions. In battle was when you felt as free as you could be; there was no need to suppress the rush of adrenaline. Stalking your quarry was when you had to practice iron control over your pulse. A vampire not listening out for a human was unlikely to notice the soft beat of a calm beating heart. You hoped Adrian meant what he said, that he respected your choice, that he wouldn’t listen out for signs that your tell-tale heart, your fucking stupid heart was pining for him. 

Each day when you arrived, you noticed more and more changes to the castle. The water stains vanished one day overnight. The candelabras no longer lay like twisted metal skeletons on the floor of the great hallway. The carpet had been straightened and the armour, sole remnants of vampiric soldiers who had fallen in battle, was finally gone. Adrian had shown you a very large library, circular with a kind of shallow circle at the heart of it. “There was a looking glass here once. My father made it himself and used it to see things from afar, even to speak to those present in the places where he looked.” Ah, you knew exactly what he meant. One of the other branches of the Morris Clan had just such a one and it was invaluable in monster hunting. Only very powerful practitioners of magic knew when they were being spied on and even then, it always took some time for them to realise someone else was watching, even if they were wearing silver which had a tendency to grow hot or vibrate in the presence of magic. 

But with its maker dead, the looking glass, once shattered, would never be whole again. A skilled craftsman might be able to repair it. But even when put back together, the lines and breaks across the glass would never mend. It would be serviceable, never to regain its former beauty. “You didn’t throw it out, did you?” 

Adrian lifted his brow at you. “I’m not that ignorant,” he said and you had the good grace to blush. “It’s down in the basement, safe under lock and key. And the doors will open only for me.”

“Just checking,” you muttered, idly twirling the silver chain around your index finger while looking up at the second level of books. You spied a ladder attached to the shelves, the kind you could slide along the shelves when you needed to retrieve books from the upper levels. The smell of freshly varnished wood still hung mutely in the air and you knew it was a recent addition. “Thanks for that. I am probably going to need it.”

“My father used to install those for my mother. When she was…gone, he removed them, though he left the rooms in the castle she had used untouched. He just never went there.” 

“Sounds like your father and my mother had very different ideas about grieving,” you snorted, following him out. There was another library he wanted to bring you to. Along the way you passed a gigantic tunnel, full of hardened runs that could have been made only from melted rock which cooled and hardened. “What the fuck happened here?” you muttered, not really expecting an answer.

“My father conjured a molten boulder of flaming rock to kill Trevor, Sypha and myself. With our combined efforts, we managed to beat it back.”

“You don’t say.” The tunnel stretched out into darkness and it was certainly not a place you wanted to explore. “Good luck patching that up.”

“Thank you,” he said dryly. “It is on the agenda.” 

“About time,” you quipped. He didn’t return the half smile on your face, but you sensed he was pleased, nonetheless. 

“You were saying something about your mother?”

Beyond family, no one knew. Hell, not even everyone in the family knew. What was it about Adrian? You said more to him in these few months than you had to anyone outside the Clan in your whole life. Fuck, you liked Adrian—simply as a person—more than you did half of your close and distant relatives. “I told you I stayed with the Belmonts until I was eleven. When I came home, my mother had turned my brother and sister’s rooms into shrines. She would go there every day, sit there for hours and drown herself in tears. Eventually she made herself depressed and my father had no idea how to help her.”

He kept quiet, sensing there was more to your tale. He slowed his pace to match yours, falling in perfect sync with your steps. “It was only after I almost died from a fever that she realised she still had one surviving child. So she came back to me, to us. Eventually we sold the house and went elsewhere to live.” 

“Did you not keep any mementos?”

“My parents kept portraits and their weapons. As for myself,” you patted the long dagger at your side, “this was my brother’s. And this,” you touched the heart-shaped locket dangling from the silver chain, “is my sister’s. She gave that to me before she left.” If you had known that was the last time you would ever see them... But you couldn’t have hugged them more tightly, couldn’t have kissed their cheeks more. And their promises to come back hadn’t been empty. You knew your siblings; they had probably died fighting trying to keep their word. 

Adrian cleared his throat softly and you snapped out of the past. “There’s another collection of books here. The vast majority of them have to do with magics, both human and vampiric, all of them obscure.”

The room was fairly large, though nowhere as imposing as the library. There was a hearthplace, a very large ornate chair with a side table next to it. A desk was placed against the wall on your left and the portrait of what you knew at once to be Lisa Tepes made your breath catch. You couldn’t help it; your eyes flicked from the painting to Adrian and back again. There was such a powerful resemblance between them. “She’s beautiful,” you murmured. And more than that, she looked kind. The artist had captured not just her flesh but also her spirit perfectly. ‘He knew her,’ you realised. There was an intimacy to the detail which mirrored the look in Lisa’s eyes. Either Adrian or Vlad Tepes had drawn this. Now was not the time to ask if it had been the son or husband.

He inclined his head slightly, a silent thanks for your compliment to the woman who had held his family together. You took in the rest of the room, noted the embossed patterns on the wall, done up in gold trim, that matched the carpeting on the floor. The long table on your right stood out, for it was laden with books that ought to have occupied the third, fourth and fifth. Unlike vampires, you certainly couldn’t levitate yourself to such heights to retrieve a book. So Adrian had brought down everything out of your reach so that you could see it. ‘Bloody hell, Adrian,” you thought miserably, completely touched. ‘You are fucking perfect.’ And you weren’t allowed to have him. 

‘Thank you’ would be pathetically inadequate; neither could you give him the kiss you really wanted to. And because you were mortal and full of human weakness, you allowed yourself to tiptoe and brush your lips against his cheek. You pretended not to see his hand come up, hesitantly, pretended the tips of his fingers never made contact, the light pressure burning right through your shirt. Spinning on your heel, you walked into the room without glancing backwards and when you finally peered out of the corner of your eye, Adrian was gone. Relief and misery seeped into you in equal measure. So you buried yourself in books until the sun began to turn slightly red. Then you left the castle to hunt down your evening meal. 

If you stayed later, Adrian would invariably arrive to retrieve you for dinner. Conversation was pleasant, if somewhat restrained to topics such as your childhood foibles and escapades (you had tons more than him), things of interest you had read in books which had nothing to do with the spell you were trying to make. The wine was excellent, as was the food. Adrian would walk you to the doorway of the castle, because you insisted you were perfectly capable of walking the short distance to the Manor yourself. Both of you had perfected the art of politely ignoring the elephant in the room. Something simmered just beneath the surface. You felt it with each brush of his eyes over you, the way you looked at his hands, when you felt the solid warmth of his presence even when you ate in silence, when you missed him already even though he was there, for the moment. But as long as you didn’t talk about it or act on it, everything would be alright, you told yourself. It was better to be friends with Adrian, to have this, even if it was a pale imitation of what you wanted. 

Today though, you were seized with a particular kind of restlessness. Your head was full of words, of diagrams, of the very specific damage conditions that casting Light magic caused to the undead and demonic. All of it was extremely interesting; you knew about Light spells and their destructive force on vampires but you had never studied the aftereffects on corpses or on victims that had escaped. None of that helped ease the particular heaviness you felt around your temples and the ache that was forming behind your eyes. Closing the book you were reading, you rubbed them, massaged your head before deciding that a break was in order. You could afford to have one evening off; you could spend the late hours of the night going through whatever you had read and trying to put the pieces together. You knew the basic fundamentals of spells and how they were made; it was just spellcasting you sucked at. Your mother was good at it, your sister had been gifted. If she had lived longer, she might have been the best magician in three generations that the Morris Clan had seen. 

By now, you knew your way around the castle, at least enough to get to the doors. You always found somewhat unnerving, the way they would open and shut for you as if on their own accord. You knew it was Adrian though. He probably could hear everything you did in the castle. ‘His castle,’ you thought, stepping out through the great doors onto the threshold of steps. Every day, with each trace of destruction he removed, he made it more his own. You had seen glimpses of potted plants nestled on windowsills or shelves and tables nearest to the light in various rooms. Something colourful and full of life was certainly a welcome sight. What you hadn’t been expecting though was that all the flowering plants were those you had mentioned liking. Wild roses. Spider lilies. Foxgloves. God, you hadn’t known it was possible to be so moved and so horny at the same time. You said nothing about the flowers and neither did Adrian. It was just one of those many, many things that both of you were going to pretend the other was ignorant of. 

“Thanks Adrian,” you murmured, knowing well he would hear you and appreciate it. Setting off at a brisk place, you raised your face to the sun and reach up, released your hair from the leather thong which bound it back. A cool wind whipped your hair free, sweeping it across your face and neck, tangling it playfully and you knew you would be spending the better part of an hour later working out the knots. Still, you didn’t care. For a while, you wanted to be free. You had a month more at the most, excluding travelling time. Then you would have to seek out your parents, find out what decision they had made on your behalf. You would have to say good-bye to Adrian. Something cold coiled in your belly at that thought. 

When you had stayed with the Belmonts, Trevor had introduced you to his tree. It was a large, fat, twisted specimen that was bereft of leaves which stubbornly somehow survived even though part of its trunk was split open, as if riven by lightning. It served as a playground of sorts for two lonely children. Here you sparred, played hide and seek, climbed and swung from the branches. Here you were kings and queens, pirates, commanders of armies under siege. It was the only place where Trevor would read a book so sometimes you sat here in the earlier hours of the morning, when the wide trunk could still provide some shade.

It was easy to find the tree, even easier to climb up, the rough bark and gnarled branches providing enough grip and leverage for you to swing yourself up. You climbed until you were nearly at the top. Then you nestled yourself in the crook of a branch shaped like the curve of an arm, watched the slow steady progress of the sun as it shed the strength of its afternoon glow for the richer, cooler sheen of evening. Relaxed and sun-kissed, you let your heavy eyes fall shut before forcing them open. You were quite certain the woods surrounding the castle and manor were free of night creatures; still, it wouldn’t do to let your guard down. 

Something moved in the near distance. Your hand went to your blade. And then you relaxed as Adrian came into view. 

***

You looked like a wood nymph, a wild fairy ensconced in the rough embrace of the tree that Trevor had identified as his own. He had hardly seen you with your hair down and today was one of those rare occasions. With that sweet smile and soft look in your eye that he liked to think was only for him, you looked delectable, tempting, enough to rouse the darker sides of his nature. Lately he had felt the split in both his natures more keenly than a knife. There were times when he regretted his promise to honour your choice, times when he was sure he could change your mind, make you accept him, make you open your heart and body to him so that he could finally _have_. The thought that you might fight him before that was a dark wicked thrill in his blood; your submission would be the sweeter for it. 

Those were things he wrestled with deep in the night, and sometimes during the day, when you were there and not there, within the walls of his castle but away from him in another room. But there were things he craved as well, that went well beyond the pleasures of the flesh. It was your warmth, the fire you brought, your compassion, the way you looked now as he scaled the tree with ease. You were happy to see him, he mattered to you, as a friend and more. These were things you would withhold if he ever broke your trust or put you in a situation which was more than you could bear. 

“You have to pay the toll if you want to stay in my tree,” you drawled as he settled himself on the branch nearest to you. It was a respectable half an arm’s length away. 

“I thought this was Trevor’s tree,” he countered. 

“As his only blood relation present, I lay claim to this tree as well. And I will share the toll with him. Now pay up, Tepes,” you mock-growled, a glint in your eyes as you extended your hand. “Come now, before I get impatient and kick you out. It’s a long way down from here.”

He knocked away your hand gently and let you swat him. “Let me guess, you and Trevor played Brigands and Thieves here.”

“And also Kings and Queens. I’ll have you know that I was a marvellous king. Trevor was just an average queen though.” You clicked your tongue in disapproval at his failure to pay up, withdrawing your hand and resting it on your belly. Your face, sometimes so tense and tired, was wonderfully relaxed and Adrian felt his own heart warm to see you so light-hearted for a change. You had devoured half the collection in his father’s—in his study, Adrian corrected. It wasn’t just your ability to remember everything that was astonishing, it was the speed with which you read. You were even faster than he was. 

“Did you find anything useful today?” he asked, trying his best not to sound intrusive.

You turned to face him. “Everything in your collection is useful, Adrian. I know people who would kill to get their hands on such a range and depth of knowledge.”

He accepted your non-answer. “Luckily for me then that you aren’t one of them.”

He had been expecting a cheeky comeback or teasing remark. He hadn’t expected your eyes to grow so serious that they darkened, the sweet lilting curve of your mouth to become firmer than a band of steel. “Never, Adrian. I would not hurt you for anything in this world.”

Hope, Adrian was realising, could be as ungovernable as the heart. It could drive a man mad, could give birth to a thousand frustrations each time it was thwarted. You were never going to say the words he wanted to hear, the words he had heard often enough exchanged between his parents. Yet his chest tightened in anticipation. “And why is that?” he asked softly. 

“You know why.” 

You looked away, watching the sun in the distance, veiled by thin strands of slow crossing clouds. Directly above, the sky was turning a shade of deeper shade of blue. Such a simple statement. A thousand things could be read into it. It could mean a single thing. And you knew that full well. The air between both of you throbbed. 

“Then why won’t you let me help you?” He watched as your fingers slid from your lap to pick at a piece of bark. You still wouldn’t look at him. He had just about given up on getting a response from you when you finally spoke. 

“Adrian, I can’t lie to save my own arse. When I get back to them, my parents are going to go over everything I do with a fine toothcomb. It’s not deliberate, it’s just them. The less involved you are, the less I have to lie about or omit. I really can’t—” You stopped, pressed your lips so hard together they turned white. “I can’t bear the thought of them trying to kill you.”

“I can take care of myself,” he said softly. In the eastern sky, stars winked into existence. “I wouldn’t harm them.”

“That’s not the point.” You looked sharply at him. “And it’s a little arrogant to think that you might get away unscathed. My parents have an excellent hunting track record, just so you know.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement. “So the point would be?”

You tossed the piece of bark you had pried free down. He heard it fall, softly thudding as it collided with the trunk before falling to the grass, nestled in darkening verdant emerald. “It’s getting late,” you said shortly, the words dripping with dismissiveness. “We should go.” You swung your legs over the branch, intending to climb down. Your mistake, however, was to turn your back on him. 

He moved like lightning, grabbing you by the shoulders, hauling you back, catching you around the waist so that you didn’t fall down. “Bloody hell, Adrian! What the fuck!” You swore furiously and then swore again when he dragged you onto his lap, your back firmly plastered against him. When you attempted to slam your elbow back against his ribs, he wrapped both arms over yours, effectively immobilising you. 

“Stop squirming,” he ordered. 

“Don’t order me around! Unhand—” You went perfectly still when you felt the reason why he had ordered you to stop struggling. It was very firmly and prominently pressed up against the curve of your arse. Your head dipped forward a little. “Oh fuck,” you breathed softly. Your pace of breathing picked up, turned shallow, more rapid. Adrian’s nostrils flared as he caught the faint honey sweet smell of your arousal. Behind his lips, he could feel his fangs sliding out, lengthening in anticipation. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea. 

“I am not to be dismissed in such a manner. I asked you a question,” he growled. “Now answer it.” The tail end of a hiss followed that demand. 

“If I do, are you going to put me down?”

“Yes.”

“Fine,” you growled. Angrily, you jerked your face as far from his as possible. “The point was that I don’t want to have to choose between my parents and you.”

“You would—you would consider disobeying them because of me?” 

You huffed. “Adrian, for a supremely intelligent man descended from two equally intelligent people, you really are quite stupid. I wouldn’t consider disobeying them, I would disobey them.” 

Slipping his hand up, he grasped your chin with unerring accuracy, turning your face towards his. “Why?” he demanded. “Why would you do that?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

His thumb traced the line of your jaw lightly. “Is that the only reason?” 

You met his gaze then. “No,” you whispered. He felt the fine tremor that went through you pass through him as well. Gently, he brushed his mouth against your temple, against your soft hair. “Adrian, you promised.” Your voice was so low, torn with desire and apprehension. 

He allowed himself to continue holding you like that for two heartbeats before sliding down the branch and floating from the air to the ground. “Go on then,” he released you, stepping back into the shadows cast by the trees, watched as you left without looking back. The sun was no more than a mere golden line on the horizon. Above, the moon was already climbing to claim her rightful place in the sky. Between the bare arms of trees, stars like tears of pale fire glittered.


	13. To Be Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I have a slight reprieve and thus more time, hence this new chapter. For those of you who enjoyed the UST, here, have some more. *L* For those of you asking for smut, it's coming (pun unintended). Thank you so much for the comments, kudos and bookmarks. Writing this fic is marvellous and a lot of that is due to you guys. I hope you enjoy this latest chapter!  
> _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You were reading a book on the differences between exorcisms and spell-breaking or dispelling, as the author insisted on calling it. Or rather, you were attempting to read it. Attempting, on the occasion, was defined as opening up said book to the first page and staring at the blank spaces in between the letters. The words registered as no more than swirls of black ink. “You could at least try to understand it,” you muttered to yourself, hands buried in your hair. If you pulled on the latter anymore, you would be bald. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Maybe then Adrian would stop trying to seduce you, and thus stop testing your very slippery grasp over your self-control, something you were beginning to detest with a passion. Not that you had anything over being disciplined. In specific areas, self-control was necessary and often meant the difference between life and death. You studied all the necessary books and scrolls to make yourself a better hunter; you trained every day. It was in the area of sexual appetites that you didn’t show that much restraint. As long as you didn’t fuck priests, married men and fiancés, you were fine with taking a man to bed as long as he was willing. And fully human. And not a virgin. You definitely did not fuck virgins because they were inexperienced and more often than not, came with emotional baggage. Not that you had actually fucked one before, but you had heard enough from your Morris cousins and your one Belmont cousin to have made that one of your rules. 

“Well, in your case, Adrian is definitely not fully human.” Leaning over, you banged your head on the book. Maybe the words would miraculously go in and you would actually get some work done instead of sitting here in the study and seeing a glazed, goggle-eyed idiot reflected back at you each time you glanced out of the window. If only you could have taken the books to the Manor. But you couldn’t, for the same reasons why you couldn’t bring any of the books inside the Hold above ground as well. But at least there you would have fresh air and some distance from Adrian. Right now…

You looked around the study mournfully. It was very hard to concentrate. Adrian’s scent, a subtle mix of wine and roses, lingered in the air. He had lined the windowsill with blue foxgloves and purple bluebells. Today, he had even left a beautifully embroidered shawl of the softest material you had ever felt on the table because it had rained the day before and you had been rubbing your arms while reading. The book you had been reading was the same book that was currently in front of you. Groaning, you banged your head on it again. Why was nothing going in? Not that that was a genuine question. You knew perfectly well why nothing was going in. That was because your head couldn’t stop thinking about Adrian. Fine, maybe he wasn’t trying to seduce you after all. He was just being considerate, sensitive, aware of your needs, hence the flowers and the shawl. And bringing down all these books. And leaving dinner trays when you stayed late because neither of you were speaking to each other (again), after that little episode in the tree. You were just pathetically weak and vulnerable to those acts. Never in your life had you had a man do these things for you because you had never wanted them, had never been in a situation where you had to contend with such things. Despite all the sex you had had, you had never been in a relationship. Why bother when your marriage was an arranged event? You avoided feelings like you would avoid a plague-infested town. Only now, you had caught a bad case of them. And Adrian knew. How his eyes had glittered when you confessed that doing the right thing was not the only reason why you would in essence, defend him from your parents. Head buried in the pages, you growled, a sound fuelled by deep frustration and some helplessness. Why, why did you always say too much to Adrian? Why, for fuck’s sake, could you not lie convincingly for once? 

“Come on, Morris,” you grunted, pulling your face off the pages. “You have to concentrate.” The faster you read, the more you could absorb, the faster you could leave the castle and the Manor and get away from him. You rubbed the back of your hand over your eyes, feeling the heaviness of the lids, the dryness. You’d been having trouble sleeping at night. If you weren’t tossing about restlessly, staring at the tower roof, wondering how you were going to manage yourself around Adrian and how you would manage yourself without him, you were being rudely awakened by wet dreams that always ended just before you orgasmed, forcing you to finish yourself off and it was Adrian’s name on your lips while you groaned and whimpered, riding out your peak with your fingers between your thighs, imagining it was his cock instead. 

You shuddered, trying to put a stop to where your thoughts were going, unable to prevent yourself from remembering that gloriously hard thick ridge that had been pressing into your arse. If that was anything to go by… You bit your lip. “Definitely does not need the penis spell book’s assistance,” you muttered. While those few minutes were just a preview, in a manner of speaking, you were quite certain that Adrian probably might be in possession of the largest cock you had ever felt. Just thinking about it was making you wet—And then your gaze fell on his mother’s portrait. Groaning, you felt a heated flush sear your face and you let it drop back into the book. God, you had no shame. And no sense of self-control. You ought to just pack up and leave and never come back. Only you couldn’t. 

The sound of the door swinging gently open did nothing to make you lift your head up from the book. If you didn’t acknowledge Adrian, you wouldn’t have to look him in the eye and therefore you could keep all your pent-up sexual frustration to yourself. If he saw it and decided to act on it, you would be too weak to stop him. In fact, you would probably encourage him and you had spent enough time here fantasising to know that you wanted him to fuck you against the bookshelves and on the lovely ornate chair you were sitting on. After turning his mother’s portrait to face the wall, of course. 

“I am quite certain that will not help speed up the reading process.”

“I’m resting,” you snapped, the effect somewhat ruined by the pages muffling your words. “Go away.” 

“We need to talk.”

Your mouth formed the word “fuck” silently. Why couldn’t Adrian be like the other men you knew? Would such a sentence ever pass Trevor’s lips? No. Your father practically quivered with fear whenever your mother said that; night creatures couldn’t pry such a sentence from him. All your previous partners would have run naked from your bed if you had said such a thing. “No, we don’t. We’re perfectly fine.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Sarcasm dripped from every word. “You would rather bury your head in a book than look at me.”

“It’s not you, it’s me. I’ve got a crick in my neck and this position makes me feel better.” 

“You really are the worst liar.”

You responded by lifting both your hands and flipping him the bird. There was a very, very light movement in the air and suddenly, you could feel the warmth of Adrian’s body next to yours as he pushed some books aside and leaned against the table. For a moment, you thought about making a dash to the door. Not that you would but the thought did occur to you, naturally. No woman should have to face a man with a face like an angel and a body made for sin when she couldn’t touch him. That was just fucking cruel. 

“Don’t even think of it,” Adrian warned in a voice like dark silk. Was that a sliver of excitement you detected? If you ran, he would chase you down and there was no way you could outrun him. And when he caught you…Resolutely, you summoned up the image of Lisa Tepes and immediately your perverse imagination beat a hasty retreat. 

“I did not,” you lied. Above you, the dhampir snorted. “Fine.” Gritting your teeth, you sat back up and glared at him. “What do you want to talk about?” As if you didn’t know. 

Adrian smiled. “For starters, the ink on your face.”

“Fuck.” You rubbed at your cheeks, then realised that you might actually be smearing it and making more of a mess. So you got up to go to the window, watching Adrian watch you through your reflections in the glass. Your pulse jumped; golden eyes slid up from the vicinity of your rear to your eyes and the dhampir’s mouth turned up at the edges in a very slight and completely deliberate smile. ‘Shit.’ All your self-preservation instincts went into high alert while your knees threatened to cave. ‘What the hell was that?’ Determined to pretend that nothing happened, you hastily rubbed the smudges away with the sleeve of your shirt. Then you turned around, folded your arms around yourself and fixed Adrian with the most impassive stare you could conjure up. “So, what did you want to talk about?” 

***

Adrian had given up on cleaning whatever remained of his father’s laboratory. The remains of more than a dozen flasks were gathered in a large neat pile but were not cleared away. The fallen books he had retrieved, had arranged in orderly piles according to subject matter. He was supposed to have been stacking them back on the shelves they belonged to. Instead, he was standing next to said shelves, books in his hands, listening to you muttering and sighing away in his study. From the moment you had set foot in there, he had been distracted, to say the least. You loved the smell of the flowers; ever since he had placed them there, you would take a long lazy inhale followed by a sigh of satisfaction. He knew you had found the shawl when you swore, muttering about how soft it was. “Oh Adrian,” you had whispered, the words soft and thick with emotion. “You really are the best and worst.”

He knew you were as distracted as he was when the sound of pages turning did not come. Instead, there was the occasional drumming of your fingers on the table. This was accompanied by more sighs. The sighs eventually evolved into frustrated mutterings. Amidst your admonishments to focus and concentrate, once, you had ordered yourself to stop thinking about sex. “God, Morris. No interspecies fucking allowed.” A few odd thumps had followed that statement. It sounded like someone was hitting the pages of a book. “It always ends badly.” 

Yes, he concurred silently. It would end badly. He didn’t want to use his mother and father as examples; had it not been for the senseless cruelty of the Bishop, his mother might have lived out the rest of her natural years and though his father would have mourned her death, there would have been no revenge to seize on to fill that crushing void. He might have occupied his days with her wishes instead, her desire that he help humans, that he should make the world a better place. Disaster might have been avoided. 

Setting the books back on the table, Adrian braced his hands on it, thick golden mane falling past his shoulders. No, things would end badly between the both of you because of the circumstances you were in. You were a hunter from a Clan of hunters who were rabidly passionate about their chosen family vocation. You were meant to be married off to someone coming from a similar background. Family meant everything to you, which was why you weren’t going to say no to that even though you clearly loathed the idea. You cared very much for him but you were absolutely wrong for each other on all levels. And one day, you were going to have to leave and Adrian knew that there was little to no chance of you coming back. Good-bye then, would be final. 

At least those were the reasons which mattered outside the walls of the castle, outside in the real world that was starting to matter less and less to him. Adrian swallowed, fingers digging into the table. It was wrong to eavesdrop on you but he couldn’t help it. ‘No,’ he corrected himself. He didn’t want to help it. What he couldn’t help was the way his cock had hardened at your mention of interspecies fucking. Clearly you didn’t have books on your mind and Adrian wondered if you had imagined the same things as he had, the things he had dreamed when he finally managed to fall asleep, only to wake up with his heart pounding, his cock aching as his seed spurted from him, vestiges of you from the dream he had been having swirling like a mirage before his eyes. You had felt so real, your hips arching beneath his hands, the line of your neck and back, the way you moaned as he fucked into you from behind while you writhed on your hands and knees. Just thinking about that made him even harder. He clenched his jaw, lips thinning, curling back, fighting the temptation to reach down and jerk himself off to completion. 

His current sorry state was one he had been living with for the past few days. Prior to this, he had had no idea it was possible to wander about the castle, to carry out routine tasks while trapped in some kind of haze of longing. He had always thought himself far too intelligent for that. Meeting you had proved that he was no better than those kings and princes and queens who burned their kingdoms down and spilled the blood of their armies just to have the person they loved and lusted over. He was just as stupid, senseless with want. Perhaps it was because he had no sexual experience at all. There had never been anyone. Humans had been frightened of him and the few vampires he had encountered in the course of his travels, he had found too different from himself. Perhaps he had been blinded by his parents’ relationship, had used it as a lens and a measure for all potential relationships. His parents had supported each other, had understood each other, had embraced in each other the strengths and gifts the world had scorned them for. They had made each other’s lives better. 

And you had made his life better. The familiar and uncomfortable sting of tears burned at the backs of his eyes and Adrian blinked hard, tried to shove that sensation away. You were within the walls of his castle, you were here now and he missed you already though you weren’t gone yet. There was only so much time that was left, so little of it. And he wanted to make the most of it, though his heart would break once you went home. 

Which was why it was such a stupid idea, he thought once again to himself as you stood there, your face a mask of boredom and irritation that did nothing to hide the thready racing of your pulse. The fact that you were choosing to gaze at a point over his shoulder was also not lost on him. The air between both of you felt thick, like a chain drawn to its breaking point, like kindling curling towards the very fire consuming it. Like him, you were holding on by a thread and he was determined to push you until you snapped. 

“Adrian?” 

No amount of prevarication would help. You were blunt and honest by nature, you would appreciate it if he got directly to the point. 

“I want to be with you.” He watched as your jaw dropped. “For the remaining time that you have here, I want us to be lovers.”


	14. A Song of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever since I've written smut and I am NERVOUS. However, I wrote it so yeah, I will post it. As always, thanks for all the comments, kudos and bookmarks! I'm not sure about the rating difference between Mature and Explicit, but I chose the latter just to be safe. So have at it you guys. I hope it's okay...  
> _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_Yes_. The word trumpeted itself in your mind with all the resounding force of a thousand clanging bells. 

_No_. That response came a split second after, curling down your spine in icy cold fingers. 

Both reactions were so even, so visceral that you actually pinched the bridge of your nose with your thumb and index finger. Hard. “This isn’t happening,” you muttered, squeezing your eyes shut. That was a mistake. For one moment fantasies that you had conjured about Adrian and yourself materialised. In the next, you saw your Clan bearing down on him. No fucking way.

Those words nearly surged out of your mouth when you snapped open your eyes. Only to meet summer golden ones that were as calm as a gentle sea. Adrian was not like the men you favoured. He was not what you would have picked for yourself because…because he needed kindness, he needed a friend, he wanted a connection. You picked men who just liked fighting or fucking or fighting and fucking because they didn’t require anything else. They didn’t need you. Adrian did. He needed a friend. You were of course his friend, albeit a friend who very much wanted to fuck him until he couldn’t walk, but first and foremost, his friend. You were going to remain only his friend, even if your lady parts combusted from sexual frustration. 

Prising your hand away from your face, you tucked it back under your arm—all the better not to grab him with—and cleared your throat. “Ah, I thought we’d discussed this.” Your voice was two octaves higher and sounded weak even to your ears. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ you screamed internally at your spine, willing it to straighten. It didn’t. 

As if he smelled blood, figuratively speaking, Adrian moved closer, settling himself at the end of the table closest to you. Which meant he was now directly opposite you, his gloriously firm arse perched on the wooden edge, long legs provocatively stretched out, clad in those leather boots which had made many an appearance in your (wet) dreams. He folded his arms across his chest, causing the thin material to transform itself into a second skin over his well-defined chest muscles and biceps, and that already indecent neckline to dip lower, revealing even more pale fair skin. You nearly bit your lip suppressing the groan which threatened to well out of your throat. And then you glared at Adrian, who blinked innocently at you, golden hair like a halo about him. You wondered if your earlier assessment about Adrian not trying to seduce you needed re-evaluating. 

“We didn’t actually. You told me your reasons why we shouldn’t get involved. And now I have some reasons why we should.”

“Adrian,” you cut in, exasperated. “I can’t be with you. I have to leave and go home once I’m done here and honestly, I am almost finished with the topics I needed to learn more about.”

“I never asked you to stay.”

Ouch. That stung. A hell of a lot. “Well, great.” You threw up your hands, trying to ignore how uncharacteristically dramatic that was of you. You told yourself you didn’t sound upset or hurt. “Discussion over.” Turning, you took two steps towards the door. And ran into what felt like a wall. Adrian’s arms circled your waist. “Get off me,” you growled, pushing ineffectively at him. He only held you tighter. “Adrian, get the fuck off before I…” To your horror, you felt an awful familiar burning at the backs of your eyes. “Please let go.” 

“I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry.” 

And just like that scalding tears rolled down your cheeks and you could have died of shame. Fucking hell, you hadn’t cried in front of anyone in forever and why the fuck were you crying anyway? It never occurred to you that you were fatigued, every nerve frayed, that even when you slept you worried. You were being pulled in two opposite directions by your own desires and the rules you had lived by all your life. You were afraid and you were exhausted from holding yourself together. Instead, you covered your face so that Adrian wouldn’t see you crying although the force of your sobs made you shake. 

He held you quietly, tightly, his cheek pressed against the top of your head, one large hand wrapped around the nape of your neck, the warmth of his arm around your waist like an anchor; he held you moored against him through the sudden storm which had come upon you. And even when it ended, as quickly as it began, he made no attempt to let you go and neither did you try to leave. 

He kissed the top of your head, long fingers nimbly stroking through your hair, tucking stray tendrils behind your ears, touching you in a way that no lover ever had. You wanted this. You would miss this. A spark of anger welled up inside before it morphed into sadness: this wasn’t meant for you. You had never craved such things before and now you did and your world would never go back to the way it was before you came to this place. All this time you thought the only person changing had been Adrian. You could see it through the castle, in his behaviour, the melancholy that was gradually lifting from him. How blindly arrogant of you to think that you had been completely left unaffected. 

“I know how much you love your family, that they mean the world to you. I would never ask you to give up all that for me.” His voice rumbled, low and gentle. It reminded you of quiet storms out at sea that you watched from the shore. “That is what I meant. But this is something you want too.” Sliding his fingers along your jaw, he tipped your face up, his own so close it was a breath away. “You want me, as much as I want you.” You didn’t dare to move. “You don’t have to give me anything but the time you have left here. For however long you can stay, I will take that.”

The damnable tears were back. “You deserve more, Adrian. You’ll meet someone better, someone who will make you truly happy.”

Unbelievably, he laughed softly, eyes full of tenderness and sadness, and in them you saw your own reflection. Both of you were already grieving the loss of something that hadn’t yet begun. “I already have.” He pressed your foreheads together. 

Your fingers tangled in his shirt, clutching the soft material tightly, as if trying to hold on to your senses. “We’re going to get hurt,” you said as evenly as you could.

“We’re already hurting,” he countered. He paused. Then stole your breath with his next words. “Please sweetheart, let me have you. Let us have this.”

If you were going to fall off the edge of the world, at least Adrian would be with you. And if you burned, it would be together. For a while then. And forever. Because you would never forget. Reaching up, you ran your thumb over his mouth, tracing soft curves. You cupped his face, feeling the sharp angles of inhumanly beautiful bones, the strong lines of his jaw, the softness of his cheek. Under your hands his neck arched, he swallowed and you felt the undulation of it. He uttered your name softly and when you looked at him, his eyes were burning bright. “Yes, Adrian,” you whispered, “yes.” 

He kissed you then, soft and full, hands coming up to cup your face, frame you between his long elegant fingers. Your tongue darted out to lick along his lower lip and Adrian’s breath hitched, his body curving into yours involuntarily. When you would have deepened the kiss, he pulled away, a slight rasp to his otherwise still calm breathing which vexed you because inside, you were already turning into a molten mess. “Adrian.” Gods, was that voice, high and needy, coming from you? Your hands, twisted in his shirt, moved to remove the garment which was now committing the offense of getting between you and Adrian’s body. 

“Wait.” His hands came down on yours, thumbs sliding down your wrists, rubbing over your pulse points. “Wait.” 

You couldn’t help yourself. “Why?” you asked, almost plaintively. 

His response was a gentle chuckle that tugged more at your heartstrings than you cared to admit. “I want to touch you.”

You raised your eyebrows, looked pointedly at his hands which were still holding your hands which were holding the hem of his shirt. “The feeling is mutual,” you drawled. Actually, touch might have been an understatement. You wanted to push Adrian onto the table behind him and absolutely ravage him. 

Fingers cupped your jaw. Lowering his head, he nipped your mouth gently. “Patience, sweet,” he breathed. The feather-light tips of his hand slid down the line of your throat, rested there, feeling each movement you made before moving lower to the base, tracing your clavicle, raising goosebumps on your skin. You lifted your own hand, slipped it over his, moved his hand and fingers so that they draped around your neck. Adrian’s breath caught. “Is this what you want?” you asked silkily, brushing your lips in soft swift kisses over his. 

Adrian was a dhampir and his vampiric instincts already meant he had a certain obsession with throats. You were playing with fire and trusting Adrian to be able to rein himself in. “Yes,” he replied, voice low, almost guttural. He squeezed lightly, you arched your neck, gasping, as if testing how much less you could breath, wondering if he could hear your excitement. His inhale was sharp, ragged. He could. You stepped back until you bumped into the windowsill behind, heard the clay of the pots grating as they shifted back to make way. Adrian had you by the throat but you were the one leading. “Where else do you want to touch?” 

Under the sunlight pouring in, he looked like a god made of gold and white fire. The hand not around your neck slid from your face to your shoulder down to your side where it tightened, pressing against the curve of your waist, sliding over your belly. If Adrian hadn’t told you he wanted to take his time, you might have thought him clueless about what next to do. A lazy smile broke out over your face. “What an utterly polite dhampir you are.” His response was to growl before rolling his hips against yours in a deliberate grind. Your breath hitched. Okay, there was nothing polite about that very large and hard erection. It felt even larger than the last time you felt it. “You feel good,” you breathed and watched as Adrian’s golden eyes turned molten. “I can’t wait to have you inside me.”

He clenched his jaw so tightly you saw a muscle twitch. “Stop teasing.” He moved his hand up from your belly to rest lightly against the underside of your right breast. Your impatience boiled over. You reached for the hem of your own shirt, yanking up the garment before practically flinging it to the floor. “You wanted to touch me,” you said, wondering why it was only ever in bed or on the battlefield that you sounded so darkly assertive. “So touch me.” Your fingers went to the laces of the cloth and leather bandeau that encased your breasts, coiling around them playfully, pulling languidly on each string.

Adrian blinked his gorgeously lashed eyes, looking slightly stunned. For a moment you felt confused. It couldn’t be because he had never seen a half-naked woman before. Maybe the women he had bedded previously had all been passive, preferring to be taken rather than take. In your bed, there was plenty of space for both. That thought evaporated when Adrian pushed your hands aside. “Don’t move.” The words were hoarse and rough, and you heard a soft growl of approval feathering them when your palms settled on the windowsill edge. You watched him, his face a perfect portrait of intent as he focused on working the ties which held your undergarment free. When the last string slipped through the last eyelet, the bandeau fell. Before it hit the floor, Adrian’s hands were on your naked breasts, cupping them, squeezing and you arched your back with a groan, pushing them further into the smooth warmth of his palms and the heat of his kneading fingers. 

Yes, yes, God. 

You pressed your hands over his. “Harder,” you ordered, “please. Please Adrian.” Parting your legs, you hooked them over his hips, dragging him closer until that glorious erection was pressing directly against your heated core. You were still half dressed but you felt wetter than you ever had in your life. Thumbs slid roughly over your nipples, pleasure spiralling as Adrian circled them while he canted his hips hard against the apex of your thighs. A fierce ache bloomed, a tight hot clenching that bordered almost on pain, your body searching for his and closing in on nothing but itself as you met his thrust in a slow hot grind that had both of you exhaling through clenched teeth. Abruptly, he bent you backwards, far enough that you felt the sun-warmed glass brush the back of your head. His hands stroked the bare expanse of your back, roving up and down, blunt nails scoring your flesh, mouth wet and hot as he sucked hard on your jawline, your neck, and when his lips closed over your nipple, you cried out, sinking your hands into thick golden hair, pressing his head to your breast. “Oh God, yes,” you mumbled, then whimpered as he flicked his tongue over the sensitised tip. “Fuck.” 

Encouraged by your response, he did it again. And again. You mewled shamelessly, letting him know how good it felt, drawing your legs up against his sides reflexively. He gave a particularly hard suck and your body snapped taut, toes curling in your boots. Tugging on his hair, you shifted him to your other breast so that he could pay it equal attention. Your hand slid from his hair to his shoulder, groping desperately for his neckline. When you found it, you pulled. Hard. The soft cotton didn’t stand a chance as it tore completely down the length of his back. Adrian jerked his head up, eyes wide, mouth wet. You crashed your mouth down on his, his tongue instinctively thrusting to meet yours as you proceeded to rip the rest of his shirt completely from him. He crushed you against him, the scorching sensation of your naked skin and breasts pressed against him drawing out a low groan that you swallowed. Eagerly, your hands dropped to his hips, thumbs pressing into the sharp rise of his hipbones, barely covered by the grey trousers he favoured. Adrian was licking into your mouth when you slipped a hand past the soft material and dived down. Then your nimble fingers were wrapping around the thick girth of his cock, squeezing hot silken flesh as rigid as steel. Oh yes, definitely the largest one you had ever touched. A strangled sound emerged from him and you swallowed it, sliding your free arm around his neck, keeping his mouth trapped against yours when he tried to break the kiss. “I want to taste the sounds you make,” you whispered smokily, biting hard on his lower lip and soothing the sting with your tongue.

Adrian shuddered, shivered as your hand gripped him firmly, slid back and forth, back and forth, your palm cupping and fondling the sensitive flared head of his cock which smeared silvery warm trails of precum over your skin. His hips rolled with your strokes, his grip on your back almost painful. “Don’t stop,” he rasped. His mouth was a wet open slash against yours, eyes squeezed shut, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief beneath ivory skin and you loved the sounds he made, loved the quick sobbing breaths and strangled moans when you slipped the hand around his neck down to his hips, tugging his pants down, freeing his cock so that you could draw your fingers over the delicate skin of the heavy sac beneath, stroking it softly while with your right hand you continued to jerk him off. Soft wet sounds filled the air, chasing the sound of harsh breathing that was coming in equal measure from Adrian and you. 

“Please.” His voice cracked on the last vowel when you twisted your wrist, moving faster. By now he was basically fucking himself into your hand, his entire body a tensed coil stretching further and further towards a release he was chasing. He mouthed your name against the corner of your lips, trailed it hot down your cheek. When he buried his face against your neck, his hair slipped over your skin, golden strands blanketing your breasts. “Please.” He sounded delightfully destroyed, mindless with want and it occurred to you vaguely that for the first time, your lover’s pleasure pleased you, and not your ego. 

“Let me up, Adrian,” you murmured. You hadn’t finished speaking before you were snatched off the windowsill ledge. You let go off him, intending to shuck off your pants and boots. Only to find yourself the recipient of your own medicine when Adrian grabbed your trousers with both hands and literally tore them apart. “What—” Before you fully realised it, you were flat on the floor, the carpet soft on your skin as Adrian knelt between your legs, pulling your boots off and throwing them aside with the remnants of your ruined clothes. The sight of his eyes, so blown with lust and desire as they devoured your naked form, drew a flush of heat across your shoulders, neck and face. You might have died of embarrassment to be blushing like a virgin, but he leaned forward, blanketing your body, kneeing your thighs further apart. Then the heat of his hand was against your wet core, pressing, fingers stroking over your sensitised skin in an imitation of what you had done. When they dipped past wet folds and brushed the throbbing swollen bud within, you sucked in a broken breath, eyes wide, held captive by golden ones. He kept at it, firmer this time, circling your clit easily and quickly thanks to how slick you were and you couldn’t stop your hips from bucking up, pleasure lancing through your body, long and jagged as lightning. Your nails dug half-moons into his wrist and bicep. 

“Adrian.” If you bit your lip any harder you would draw blood. “I want…Oh fuck…” You writhed, half to escape those fingers, half to get closer. “I want…”

Sharp fangs scored thin welts along the curve where your neck and shoulder joined. Adrian’s hiss was dark and deep. “So do I.” Abruptly he rolled over, hands manacled around your hips, hard and bruising. His fangs had slid out further, longer, whiter than bone. You didn’t need him to say what he wanted, what you both wanted. On shaking knees you raised yourself, gripping his cock to line him up against you. The heated pressure of that broad blunt head, so swollen that you could see the slit and beads of precum on it clearly, made you hesitate for a second. But the fierce ache inside you pushed you on, as did the feel of Adrian’s fingers. Canting your hips, you thrust down. The sting was brutal, almost overshadowing the pleasure; your back bowed, one hand braced on Adrian’s chest, feeling the sudden onset of its rapid rise and fall, your other hand dug into his hip, as if clinging onto it as the head of his cock entered you. You paused, lip caught between your teeth. Then Adrian was holding you in place, holding you down as he thrust up, hard. Your mouth parted in a silent scream, head thrown back, eyes clenched shut, tears forming at the corners while he impaled you. Pleasure and pain roiled as one, pouring like a flood through your body, setting each nerve alight, your bones on fire. A tear rolled down your cheek, you were panting as if you had just run for miles. He thrust again, sliding in deeper, your knees giving way as you sank down on him, taking him completely, whimpering, boneless in his hands when he pulled you forward, his mouth catching yours in a ravenous kiss.

He didn’t fuck you though, didn’t move even though the hands which held your face trembled. His lip was bleeding, he had bitten it in an effort to remain still, fighting his own pleasure so that yours wasn’t completely ruined. Your tongue darted out, tasting ruby drops, more sweet than copper, human yet not. Your hair streamed down on either side, half shielding you both from the light, a partial cocoon the sun darted through to blend with the shadow of your form on his face. He murmured something in a strange tongue, foreign to your ears, nostrils flaring, head thrown back when finally, finally you rolled your hips against his, felt the thick heavy heat of him so hard inside, so deep. Ecstasy started with a breathy moan, grew when your eyes shuttered half closed, pressure building between your thighs where his body met yours, two moving as one, the sound of your name on his lips as if it had found a home there. 

Your hips were wild as you rode him, hands braced on the carpet on either side of his head, his hair was spilled gold tangled in your fingers. His hips surged rhythmically, fucking you back just as hard and amidst the stream of incoherent thoughts flowing through your mind that consisted mostly of “Yes” and “Oh God” and “Adrian” was the dawning realisation of why he had pulled you atop him. If he hadn’t been holding you, he might have bucked you right off. Adrian was frighteningly strong, far more than a human. If you had been sandwiched between the floor and him, he might have literally broken bones. It ought to have scared you; instead your fool heart soared and you bent to kiss him, pulled one of his hands free from your waist to slide between your thighs. He stroked your clit. And you came with stars exploding in the darkness behind closed lids. You couldn’t hear your wail for the blood rushing in your ears; you couldn’t feel anything but Adrian’s cock inside you as he fucked you through your orgasm, each thrusting stroke against your clenching walls a white hot bolt of pleasure that dragged you into another wave and another until you collapsed on his chest, face buried in his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, feeling his body curve like a bow, listening to his harsh cry, sharp and sudden as a whip crack when his own orgasm came upon him, his heart thundering beneath the flat of your hand like a song of life.


	15. Like Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, sorry for the long delay! It's been a really busy week and I got caught up. Thanks so much for the many comments, kudos and bookmarks; basically thanks for showing this story and my Muse love! And also for letting me know the smut was good! *G* It really has been awhile since I've written such and apparently for this fic, the smut gates have been opened. Do let me know what you think of it and I hope you have fun reading this latest update!  
> ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You awoke to find out that you had, after barely holding on for Adrian’s orgasm, basically passed out from yours. The last thing you recalled was the violent heaving of his chest, the way he wouldn’t allow you to roll off him, hands imprisoning you in place so that your slick sweaty bodies were still joined. The hard rapid beat of his heart against the shell of your ear, and the way it made you smile like an idiot. Some part of you was still shouting that you were a fool to have done this, but that voice was small, pushed to the furthest, darkest corner of your mind that you could summon, very much muted by the memory of the wonderful, near earth-shattering orgasm you had enjoyed while riding the man you were currently still lying on top of. 

Slowly opening your eyes, you registered that the sun had not dimmed by much at all. Beads of drying perspiration, like tiny pearls, dotted Adrian’s skin. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours, his skin was as warm as yours for once because you were still plastered to each other and as long as you stayed still, you could enjoy the sensation of not knowing where your body began and his ended. At least, that was until you realised that he was still inside you. Because he was hard and actually getting harder by the second. You could do little to help the shudder that drove through you, fuelled by a frisson of pleasure mixed with the sting of pain. You were sore. It had been a year of abstinence, thanks largely to your parents who had pointedly kept bringing up the fact that arrangements for your betrothal were to be finalised this year and they really did not want any ‘accidents’ occurring. You had scoffed at the idea but in the end, backed down. And since you had stopped having sex, you had stopped downing a particular type of herbal tea that was excellent at preventing unwanted pregnancies. 

Fuck. Alarm shot through your gut, widening sleepy eyes. Adrian had come inside you. He had come a lot, if that wet heat slicking down your thighs had been any indication. Lifting your head, you found yourself pinned by your lover’s hot gaze. His eyes were so soft though, and sweet and something inside you practically unravelled at the sight of them. Until you remembered the emergency at hand. Unwanted pregnancy. Right. “Adrian—”

That was as far as you got before he rolled you over, trapping you underneath him. “Adrian,” you protested, a half-groan escaping when his hand slid down, caressing your thigh before hooking his fingers beneath your knee, pulling it up to wrap around his hip. Your protest was drowned by the deep hungry kiss he gave you, tongue delving in to tangle with yours. Your hands curled around his shoulders, nails digging in as he began to thrust inside you in deep slow strokes that melted your insides and capacity to think. It hurt but also felt good, mostly because Adrian was brushing against that special place inside you that made the skies open and stars appear. “Oh yes, right there. Oh God,” you panted into his mouth, practically babbling. Maybe a year of abstinence had been more harmful to your mental health than helpful. This was the most boring sexual position ever but right now, your nerves were on fire and if Adrian kept this up, the carpet under you would turn to ash. You had even enjoyed cuddling with him and you were _not_ a cuddler by any means. Yes, you thought, head pressed up against the floor, back arched, neck exposed so that Adrian could run his sharp teeth over your vulnerable flesh and the pulsing veins beneath, hands clutching at the tight muscles of his arse as he pumped inside you, fighting to keep your eyes from closing so that you could see the furrow of his brow, the hard clench of his jaw, the way his muscles rippled beneath flawless skin as he braced himself on his forearms, never once breaking pace as he continued to fuck you hard and slow. A year of no sex had turned you into a mewling clinging mess who orgasmed far too easily—not that that was a bad thing; it was an excellent thing. Or, a sly voice whispered as you drew your knees high up against Adrian’s sides to allow him to slide in deeper, it had nothing to do with sexual deprivation and everything to do with the man who was on the brink of giving you another orgasm and rugburn.

Lurching up, you grabbed onto Adrian’s back, running your tongue along the curve where shoulder and neck joined. He shuddered when you sank your teeth into his flesh, not hard enough to break skin but sharp enough for him to feel it. A growl rumbled in his chest, you heard his breath hiss out from between his teeth. His hips ground against yours, his thrusts becoming uneven and sloppy as his control slipped away. He muttered your name, the sound of it harsh, almost guttural. He was close. Apparently you weren’t the only one who liked a little pain mixed with your pleasure. “Faster, Adrian,” you breathed against his neck, sucking hard kisses that you knew would leave marks. The thought of seeing his fair skin covered in light bruises left by you made your arousal flare hotter. ‘Mine,’ you thought, feeling the possessive way his hand spread over your hip before sliding down to grab your arse so that he could yank you closer in tandem with his thrusts. Against your ear and neck he mouthed words, hot, frantic, unfamiliar. “So good Adrian,” you whispered. “Better than—” You broke off, eyes rolling back, lids fluttering close as one particular thrust seared your vision white with pleasure. He shifted his weight, pinning you so that no matter how you squirmed and wiggled, you couldn’t move. His next thrust hit the same spot; you ground your teeth but couldn’t stop the ragged moan that slid between them. He did it again and again and again until you fell apart at the seams, clawing helplessly at his back, head buried in his neck as you sobbed out the rough wild crest of the orgasm that threatened to tear you apart. 

Then it was Adrian’s turn to moan, to sink his teeth hard into your shoulder. Sharp teeth punctured your skin. Deep inside, hot warmth spilled, caused your throbbing walls to clench down once more and Adrian gave one last thrust, muscles tensed as he pressed so deeply into you that you cried out. Then he relaxed. Against your chest, you felt his heart pounding, the sound and sensation of his harsh panting more than welcome. A pleasant heaviness seized your limbs but you draped your hands on his hips, stroking the curve of his arse, the strong lines of his back, twining his hair between your fingers. “Don’t move,” you mumbled, relishing his weight on you, the sweaty tangle of your limbs, the smooth rub of his leather boots against your ankles. You weren’t ready to let him go yet. Eventually you would have to but… Shoving that dark thought away, you turned your head, pressing your cheek against his hair, nuzzling him. 

When his breathing finally resumed some semblance of normalcy, Adrian leaned up to look at you. His hair was mussed, thanks to your ministrations, those beautiful eyes that reminded you more often than not of a lion’s were slightly glazed, an aftereffect of his orgasm. Briefly you wondered about Adrian’s refractory period. You hoped to God that his vampire heritage came with the bonus of not having one; it was something you already suspected and were determined to test out. He ran his knuckles gently from your temple and down your cheek, a movement as tender as the smile on his face. Instead of feeling irritated and stifled, which was your normal reaction, you turned your face, kissed the tips of his fingers. Seized by a sudden sense of mischief, you caught his index finger between your teeth, and swirled your tongue over the tip. A soft “oh” escaped him; inside you, he twitched. You were contemplating whether another round of fucking was advisable—because you honestly thought you might have trouble walking—when Adrian shifted slightly to the side. Over his shoulder, you could see the portrait of Lisa Tepes. Starting straight at you as you lay buck naked underneath her semi-naked son whose cock was firmly lodged inside you. Your desire dissolved faster than ice tossed into the heart of a fire. You popped his finger out from your mouth.

Sensing your distraction, Adrian followed your gaze and looked behind him. “What is it?” When he turned back, he looked genuinely worried. You felt his hands on you tighten slightly, his heartbeat quicken just so. “I thought…” He swallowed, fair brows knitting together in a furrow. There was something oddly vulnerable about it. “Did you not enjoy yourself?” 

For a moment you stared at him blankly, quite unable to understand what that question was supposed to mean. From anyone else it might have been preening, fuelled by a self-serving intent meant to stroke an already inflated ego. God knew, you’d had enough of those types of men in your bed and you had never failed to kick each one of those foolish peacocks out. But Adrian was not like that, you knew he wasn’t. He was, unbelievably, being sincere. He was also growing more nervous with every moment of your silence. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, tucking the damp tendrils of your curls behind your ears. You would have liked the endearment more if it wasn’t laced with so much apprehension. And then it hit you: he thought you had changed your mind about him, about both of you. 

Pushing yourself up on one elbow, you gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek and lips. He practically sighed with relief against your mouth and would have deepened the kiss but you wouldn’t let him. “You’ve completely ruined me for other men,” you chuckled softly, looking him square in the eye so that he could see how honest you were being. “It was amazing; you are amazing. If I seem uncomfortable, it’s because your mother’s portrait is there and I feel like she’s judging me.”

Adrian burst out laughing, a sound you hoped you would always remember. If you didn’t kill yourself first for entertaining such maudlin sentiments. Honestly, you blamed your parents and your enforced abstinence for this. Thank God that interminable dry spell was over. “I assure you, she is not. My mother was never uptight or conservative about such matters. She was more practical about it, both the physical and emotional aspects.”

“Ah, she gave you the old birds and bees talk, I suppose.”

“Did you honestly think my father would be the one to do so?” He arched a brow at you. “After all, there was a doctor in the family.”

Dracula, terror of the night, persecutor of humanity, commander of legions of night creatures and vampire armies, scientist, capable chef, loving husband and father. You tried to imagine him sitting down a young Adrian on the cusp of adolescence to speak about penises and vaginas and sexually transmitted diseases. You failed almost immediately. “I think your mother made a good call there,” you muttered. 

“So you see,” the timbre of his voice dropped and grew husky as his mouth sought out yours. Playfully, you turned away so he got the corners of your lips instead. “There’s nothing,” he punctuated each word with a kiss, “to be embarrassed about.”

“Oh yes there is,” you said indignantly. “You’ve never had your parents walk in on you while you were…” Naked and spread out on a table while your houseguest, a very fine-looking scholar who had arrived two days before to consult your father on a particularly esoteric study of—well, you didn’t know then and you still didn’t know now. All you knew was that your parents’ twin looks of horror were forever seared into your brain. “While you were having sex.” Adrian didn’t need to know the ugly details; you would keep your traumas to yourself. “Now let me up.”

He pulled you easily to your feet, then slid his pants back up while you eyed the ruin of yours which had been tossed in several directions all about the room. The only things not in pieces were your sword-belt and your blade, because those had been left on the table, and your bandeau top. There was your shirt but it was too short to wear alone—

“Here.” Before you realised it, he had slid the soft material of the shawl beneath your arms, wrapping you securely in it, covering up your nakedness. Deftly, he knotted the ends, then pulled you into his arms, kissing you full on the mouth so that you stood on tiptoe, leaning into him. “Your modesty is restored, my lady.”

Oh you liked that last part way too much. “Thank you, kind sir. But apparently you’ve not just ruined me for other men, you’ve also ruined one perfectly good set of trousers. I only have two left and those are in my pack at the Manor.” 

“This, coming from the woman who literally tore the shirt off my back,” he shot back wryly. 

“I was desperate. You’re gorgeous, I—” Careful, careful, you warned yourself, “—care for you a great deal and honestly, it’s been a year since I’ve been with anyone.” The words you’d swallowed at the last minute were “fucked anyone”; somehow you sensed Adrian would not like that. “So, how long has it been for you?” 

If you hadn’t seen it, you wouldn’t have believed it. Adrian actually blushed. Then he coughed softly. “I…uhm…” His mouth moved but no words came. 

You pounced. “It’s either been very long or it wasn’t too long ago.” His flush moved from a charming light pink to a richer scarlet. “Oh my, it’s the latter then. Was it just before I showed up? Unless you’ve been making nocturnal visits to someone even when I arrived—” Words could not describe the sheer look of horror on Adrian’s face and it served as a much-needed distraction from the bolt of jealousy that came out of nowhere to bury itself in your gut. 

“No,” he sputtered. “No,” he repeated, much firmer this time. It might have even come across as intimidating, were he not as red as a tomato. “There was no one after you arrived—”

The vicious bite of jealousy abated at once, like a wave rolling off the sand and retreating into the sea. Subconsciously, that was probably the moment when you realised just how fucked you were, figuratively speaking. But the next words that came out of Adrian’s mouth stopped you from contemplating the slippery slope you had barrelled down at breakneck speed by sleeping with him. 

“And there was no one before either.” 

You tilted your head, much like a cat or a dog when it hears something strange and unfamiliar. “You mean there was no one before I arrived for a really long time.” That made sense, what with fighting his father and then killing him. Some men and women fucked to keep their sorrows at bay, God knows you had done that before. But Adrian who had chosen to turn the castle into his own personal tomb wouldn’t do that. 

He looked down at you, thick gold lashes so long that they cast shadows on his cheeks. Now even the tips of his ears were red, his neck was completely flushed. “There was no one before you arrived,” he said carefully. The fingers draped around your waist shifted restlessly, spanning the curves of your sides, as if looking for something to hold onto. 

It took you a few long seconds before the full import of what he was saying hit you. And even then you couldn’t quite believe it. Your brows crept so high they were within reach of your hairline; you knew your eyes had grown quite enormous. “Really?” You might have been embarrassed by how squeaky you sounded, but there were other matters to be preoccupied about. Namely that Adrian had in essence, just told you that he had been a virgin. The air left your lungs in a startled exhale. So not only had you broken your number one rule about no interspecies fucking, you had also broken your number two rule about no fucking virgins. ‘Way to go,’ your inner voice cheered sarcastically while you continued to stare dumbly at Adrian.

Some of that marble-like impassivity returned to his face; you could literally see his walls coming up. “Is that a problem?” Despite his gentle tone, there was something pointed about it, like the thorns of wild brambles which littered slender coiling stems in an attempt to protect them. His hands began to slip from your waist, beating a retreat. 

You stopped him by putting your hands gently on his arms. “No, it’s not a problem. I’m just…” While half of you was busy picking up your figurative jaw from the floor, the other half scrambled for the right thing to say. You opted, in the end, for the truth. “I’m just really surprised. You certainly didn’t seem like one.” 

The guardedness didn’t entirely leave his face but at least it didn’t increase. “I followed your lead,” he said quietly and you realised indeed that he had. Unlike some men who might have bristled at instructions, Adrian had taken them well. “And my senses are heightened. I simply paid attention to what you responded to most.” 

Now that was an understatement. If your orgasm had been any better, your soul might have left your body in a euphoric explosion of ecstasy. “I wish you had told me before we started though.” Gently you traced the veins in his forearms, fingers following the lean curves of his biceps. He pulled you closer and you brushed your fingers over the end of the pale scar which rested above his heart. “We could have gone slower. I could have—” 

“You were perfect.” 

It was hard to meet and hold that crystalline gaze, especially when he looked at you like that. And suddenly there was a lump in your throat that was hard to swallow. Shit, were you getting emotional after sex? Inside, some part of you shrieked in horror. Clearing your throat, you looked away, realised you were staring at Lisa’s portrait and promptly turned the other way because you just could not look at the woman’s likeness, not after you realised you had deflowered her son on the floor of his study. “Uhm, about my clothes…”

If he sensed your sudden unease, Adrian was perceptive enough not to say anything. Instead both of you gathered up the remnants of your shredded garments and your other articles of clothing, plus your sword, then he took you by the hand and led you down a long corridor and another tall, winding staircase leading up several floors up. Your suspicion that he was leading you to his bedroom was confirmed when he pushed the door open and ushered you in. 

The room was sumptuous, the decorations were understated but you could see from the soft shine of the long midnight blue curtains and the rich glow of the very fine and sheer fabric which draped the enormous and very high four poster bed to the velveteen sheen of the dark mahogany of the shelves which lined the walls that everything in here was of the best quality. The windows were huge, stretching almost from the wall to the ceiling and when you approached them, you realised you could see the entirety of the Manor. You also saw clearly in your reflection the bitemark Adrian had left on you. There was a faint imprint like a half-ring and at the back, a slight throbbing you were suddenly aware of. ‘His fangs,’ you thought. 

“It’s not bleeding,” Adrian came up from behind, dressed in a fresh white shirt, standing close but making no attempt to touch you. “I apologise if—” 

You caught his gaze in the window. “I liked it,” you said with quiet reassurance. “And I trust you.” Maybe it was just the flickering sunlight from behind the moving clouds but you could have sworn Adrian shivered, if only for a sliver of a moment. Half vampire, you reminded yourself, with a very human heart. “Would you like me to stay in the castle from now on?” 

“Yes.” The words ‘until you leave’ hung in the air, swinging like a pendulum, an invisible countdown that had begun the moment you had kissed him. There was nothing to do but ignore it and focus on what you had for the moment. 

“I think that huge bed behind us will come in most useful then.” Your smile was crooked, alight with mischief and lust, your eyes slightly blown when you thought about all the things, all the pleasures you could introduce him to. And Adrian, already a gifted fighter and scholar, was proving equally adept in the bedroom. You wouldn’t be the only one doing all the giving. 

Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss over the shallow punctures marking your shoulder, his tongue trailing feather-light over them. You shivered. “Not just the bed,” he murmured, smoke and silk in his voice. “I’ll be back once I retrieve your belongings from the Manor.” Then he was gone, and in good time as well because you were wrestling the urge to jump him, in all senses of the term. 

Looking around the room, you took everything in. So this was to be your temporal residence. You sighed. It would take some work to stop it from feeling like home.


	16. Blood of my Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm back with a new chapter. Looks like updates will indeed be on a weekly basis; life makes its demands and mine is to obey. Thanks so much for all the comments, kudos and bookmarks; my Muse loves them all and honestly, half the fun is hearing from you all! I hope you enjoy this chapter as well. There's a reference to ASOIAF, one of my great passions. As one of you pointed out, but in a different context, the plot thickens. Do let me know what you think!  
> _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

So this was how he was going to die. Adrian quivered, swallowing hard, lips parted as his chest heaved. Helpless and immobile and… He arched his back, head digging further into the pillows, shredding half stifled whimpers between clenched teeth. He was going to die in his own bed, staring at the ceiling while his brain melted and came out between his ears because every inch of him felt as if it were on fire. Fingers clenched at the pillows his hands lay trapped on, squeezing the soft down-filled silk. He couldn’t take any more of this agony. He was burning. He pulled hard, twisting them in his hands.

And heard the lush wet sound of your lips pulling off his aching cock. 

“No,” he ground out, hips arching fruitlessly, lifting his head to stare down at the absolutely sinful and wantonly delicious sight of you lying naked between his spread legs, dragging your wet mouth along the quivering inside of his right thigh. Perched on your elbows, hair spilling over your naked shoulders, your bared breasts pressed together, nipples hard and rosy with your eyes alight…It wasn’t that terrible a way to go, he thought, trying to rein in the harsh desperate panting that matched the rapid speed of his heartbeat. Well, it would be terrible if he died from orgasm denial. But there were worse ways to go. “Sweetheart.” If he weren’t so desperate, he might have winced at the way he sounded. There were no two ways about it; he was begging. 

“No,” you nipped his skin, the tiny pinpricks of pain blossoming like starbursts and shooting straight to his twitching cock, “moving.” You turned and nipped his left thigh and he couldn’t help the low feral growl which erupted from his throat. It sounded ominous, even threatening, the sound of something more than a man being pushed to his limits. It all but melted into a gasping moan when you dipped your head forward and ran the soft hot length of your tongue over his balls. 

“Oh God.” His head dropped back against the pillows as you did it again and again, teasing the delicate seam, driving him half out of his mind. He writhed when your mouth—your wonderful, wonderful mouth—opened and you sucked them in gently, bathing them with silken heat. Your cheeks hollowed slightly, tightening with just the right amount of pressure and for a moment, Adrian swore the entire world turned white. “Sweetheart,” he breathed. “Oh.” With every stroke of your tongue, pressure built between his legs, wrapped itself vice-like around his spine, needling his lower belly with a thousand fiery jabs that rolled together in a desperate urge to thrust himself into the tight warmth of your mouth. It felt as if he were scaling a precipice, climbing higher and higher. His toes curled, feet digging into the mattress, sliding against silk as he fought to control himself even though it felt as if every nerve was being stretched thin to its breaking point. 

If he had known this was the sweet torment you had meant, he would have… Adrian swallowed, eyes squeezing shut, no longer trying to smooth the shamefully loud jagged sounds of his uneven breathing. He wouldn’t have changed a damned thing. You had taught him how to please you with his fingers alone—he would never be able to see another ‘come hither’ gesture in the same light ever again—and after three orgasms that had seen you rip a sheet, bite down hard enough on his shoulder to leave marks and moan his name like he was a god to be worshipped, you had offered to pleasure him using your mouth. He had heard some of such an activity; it wasn’t entirely unknown to him. You had sweetly pushed him back against a nest of pillows, propped up so that he could see what you were doing, running your hands gently and slowly over his body, taking your time to arouse him further with open-mouthed kisses and whispered praises that secretly drove him as wild as your touch did. You had moved those kisses down the planes of his belly, over his thighs, everywhere except where he really wanted your mouth. It was somewhat nerve-wracking, yet thrilling, unknown but comforting because he knew you; he trusted you. When your mouth had finally closed over him, Adrian realised that he hadn’t known a damned thing after all. He might have come there and then if you hadn’t stopped after that first initial suck and long luxurious lick that had his hips jolting off the bed.

You had certainly taken your time building him up, stopping repeatedly whenever he was right on the brink of coming and somewhere in his subconscious was a vague plan to do the same thing to you, to reduce you to the needy, sweaty, helpless mess you had made of him. He definitely wanted to use his mouth to pleasure you the next time you made love. You might have tricked him though when he agreed to your request that he not move so that you could take your time. Now that he would have changed if he had— That thought stopped dead in its tracks when with one final suck, you relinquished his balls in favour of wrapping your hand around the base of his cock—finally, finally, yes—your tongue darting out to lap around its weeping head before you closed your lips around it. And sucked while you pumped him firmly with exquisite, agonising slowness. 

Adrian bit his lip so hard he tasted copper. In his fists, the pillows became a mangled, crumpled mess. His eyes narrowed to glittering slits as he watched you, lying beyond the frantic rise and fall of his chest and the clenching of his stomach muscles, cradled between his tensed thighs, watched you take him apart with a frightening ease that he loved. Your hair was draped over your shoulder, obscuring your face partially, silken ends dancing on his sensitised skin, further setting him on edge. Yet he could feel you moving, feel the tip of your tongue flickering, lightly tracing back and forth over the slit of his cock before trailing down to massage the sensitive underside with soft strokes, dragging out all kinds of noises from him that he would never have imagined he could make. 

But when you suddenly pushed down, sliding him deep inside your mouth until he hit the back of your throat, when you hollowed your cheeks and started to move up and down, when you started humming so that the vibrations went right through him and into his bones, when he realised you had the cheeky audacity to hum a tune he recognised as that dirty song “Watkin’s Ale”, Adrian lost control. Fire roared up his belly and down his thighs. Silk tore and feathers spilled as the nails of his hands elongated and shot out as claws, gouging deep tears in the pillows. The scream that came out of him was silent, his eyes were burning, lashes damp with tears. He couldn’t breathe because his heart was going to break his ribs and come out of his chest. And through it all you continued to suck and pump him with tender mercilessness as he came long and hard in your mouth, the pleasurable force of each hot spurt dragging his spine forward off the ruined pillows.

It wasn’t the first time that “I love you” crossed his mind, especially after you broke him and put him back together in the most exquisite way. It was, though, the first time that he blacked out from an orgasm. 

***

Water splashed softly into the empty copper bowl as you wrung the wet cloth. After wiping down your lover who was clearly not going to wake up anytime soon, you cleaned yourself up, grinning as you caught yourself humming the chorus of “Watkin’s Ale”. The bed was a rumpled mess, feathers drifted to the floor, fluttering against your skin and through the air as you lay down next to Adrian, soaking in the sight of him utterly and completely dead to the world as he slept. Not for the first time did you consider how beautiful he was, ethereal as a dream, bright as the sun. Reaching out, you brushed back his hair, trying in vain to keep that stray curl that was forever fetchingly out of place off his forehead. He was almost as beautiful outside as he was inside. 

As if sensing your proximity, he shifted, head turning towards you, his breathing deep and slow. You had realised over the course of three days of doing nothing but fucking and fulfilling your other bodily needs—but mostly fucking—that Adrian was a very light sleeper because he didn’t really need to rest the same way you did. Often you awakened to find yourself wrapped in his arms, his fingers tracing his name over and over across your skin. As if he hadn’t marked you enough already. Your neck and shoulders were faintly littered with the intimate evidence of his teeth and mouth, your hips and thighs a map of where Adrian loved to grab you the most as you both drove each other on to a mutual climax. And on the rare occasion when you were awake and he was asleep, all it took to wake him up was for you to yawn or sigh or just breathe louder. Sometimes you wouldn’t touch, just looked at each other and smiled, enjoying the closeness of each other’s presence. There was an intimacy in that too, as profound in its own way, and utterly new to you. For all the things that you were teaching Adrian, he too was teaching you. 

And speaking of teaching… You groaned inwardly. There was nothing more that you wanted than to just sink into his warmth and into sleep. It was practically evening and cooking dinner was clearly not on the menu because you weren’t hungry and there was still food from lunch. If Adrian awoke later, you could have supper. Your face reddened slightly when you thought of the Trevor and Sypha dolls sitting on the ledge that had witnessed all the things you and he had done which had nothing at all to do with cooking, unless licking honey off each other’s bodies counted—which you knew it totally didn’t. What you also knew was that the kitchen table was bloody sturdy, tough enough to withstand the weight of two writhing bodies as Adrian fucked you while you screamed yourself hoarse—

‘Stop getting distracted,’ you scolded yourself. You had more information to learn about dispelling. Three days’ break was more than enough and since Adrian was asleep and not available to distract or tempt you, you needed to seize the chance to get some work done. So despite your aching and sore muscles, you forced yourself to pull on your clothes. You eyed your sword briefly. It felt a tad ridiculous to bring it along, especially since you felt so safe within the walls of the castle. But force of habit was a hard thing to break and you took it in the end, draping the sword belt about your hips as you walked to the library. A pleasant ache rode between your thighs and you slowed your gait; there was no rush. 

Although the corridors had the steady unmoving white shine of lightning trapped in glass, the study lacked such modern equipment, which told you that like yourself, Dracula Vlad Tepes and Adrian preferred the old-fashioned warmth and glow of a fire. Putting logs and kindling in the hearth, you started one for yourself, lighting several candles from there and melting their wax on a metal tray before planting them firmly so that the wax could cool around the base and hold them in place. When you had sufficient light, you settled yourself in the chair, flipped the book open and began reading. The words which had previously defied you as illegible scrawling and yawning blank spaces were suddenly crystal clear, making absolute sense, practically leaping out at you while you devoured page after page. Beyond the window, the sun sank below the canopy edge of the surrounding woods, stars coming out to dance near the gleaming red line, the moon following in their wake. 

You didn’t notice when night fully set in; you had just finished the last chapter which focused on breaking spells over enchanted objects, even people or animals. What you did notice was the fire suddenly shuddering, its flames whipping wildly even though the air was completely still and—‘Not warm.’ Realisation screeched through your blood, as did adrenaline and that was when you knew, even before you leaped out of the chair, sending it sliding back on the carpet, even before your sword was gleaming in your hand, its naked edges burning with the red glow of fire, that someone was _watching_ you.

Hundreds of feet above the ground, floating in the darkness like a winged spectre and just beyond the window was the reason why you were here, the reason why your brother and sister were buried six feet under to be food for worms. You bared your teeth, lips drawn back in a savage snarl.

He came closer, face almost against the glass so that his features were lined by firelight. A thin mouth, a high straight nose, deep set eyes and a cloak that spread out in the night winds which blew outside whose chill had invaded the room. Like you, he had that distinctive Morris chin that almost everyone in the Clan had. You had been told that once upon a time, his irises had been parti-coloured, green and black. Now they were a wild feral red, like blood against the snow-white of his skin. 

“Hello, the littlest Morris. You look so much like your brother and sister.” He grinned. White fangs slid out. A long pale tongue emerged to caress them. “I bet you taste like them as well.”

Lightning seared your vision, red and black. 

“Speaking of tastes, I must say, you are a direct throwback to me. It seems we’re both inordinately fond of vampires and somehow getting them to love us.” A frightening hardness crossed his face, a shadow looming beneath that pleasant veneer, the shape of a shark rising through the water to skim its surface. 

Something must have flickered across your face because the ancient vampire smiled. “Oh yes, I was watching. And listening.”

So far you had held your ground. This was not the kind of situation in which you attacked, not when you were clearly at a disadvantage. Not unless he came through the window for you. Beyond it was a sure fall to death. Neither should you engage in conversation with vampires. Of all the creatures you hunted, they were the most dangerous because they seduced, they lied, they taunted. ‘Never engage verbally’ you had been told over and over again. But this was too much. The thought of him spying on you and Adrian threatened to rip the joy from the hours you had spent in his arms. 

“Godfrey,” you hissed, turning his name into a curse. 

His smile widened with unholy glee. “You do know me.”

“Second son of Lionel Morris, founder of our Clan. Deserter of your wife. Traitor and murderer.” You didn’t state those as accusations, merely facts. The creature before you was not in possession of a conscience to be pricked in any case. 

“Murderer,” he rolled the word out, as if contemplating its meaning. “Now there’s an interesting charge. I do believe it was someone else that began that blood feud first.”

Of course he would push the blame away. “I don’t give a fuck what you think. What do you want?”

The smile vanished from his face, as if it had never been. “What I always want: the blood of my blood.”


	17. The Lesser Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I finished touching up the chapter so yup, here it is, a little calm before the storm that hits. One reference to ASOIAF and The Witcher. I'm taking the liberty of exploring some things in the canon lore which are of interest to me (so purists please have mercy). Thanks so much for letting me know you like this plot twist and are looking forward to action of a different kind. However, the smut will still continue, no worries. But to quote some of you, the epic sexy times of the hot girl summer will be somewhat less frequent. As always, I'm always very, very thankful for all the comments, feedback, kudos and bookmarks that come this story's way! You guys are the best. :)  
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The fire was burning much too low in the hearth to provide any light; there were more ashes than flames. You sat perfectly still in that chair that was much too large for you, trying not to feel so small, so worried. So trapped. Your hands tightened on the armrests, knuckles white, veins of blue-green standing out from the tension. Adrian loved your hands, loved lacing your fingers with his, loved putting them on him. He leaned into your touch and in the short number of days since you had been lovers, you had been uncharacteristically generous with casual caresses even when you two were not fucking. Because he liked it. And that meant you liked it. 

Taking your hands from the chair, you buried your face in them. Across the window you had drawn the curtains, thick luxurious drapes which blotted out every inch of the world outside. “Try watching through those you fucking depraved pervert,” you had muttered, for once hoping that Godfrey was indeed listening. The fact that there was a direct bloodline connecting you to him made you shudder, made you wish you could wash out the marrow in your bones with holy water, do something to exorcise that connection. 

But that wasn’t possible. Godfrey, for all intents and purposes, was family. And you didn’t get to choose that. You lived with the people whose lives you were born into. What that meant for your ancestor was an entire Clan baying for his blood because of all the Morrises he had murdered over the centuries. This was within the family and you were honour-bound and more than willing to take your fair shot at him. 

Without Adrian’s involvement. At least, as much as that was possible. 

You shivered, knees drawing up, arms wrapping around them as you hunched down, lost in the memory of that strange deep hunger that had crossed Godfrey’s face when the mention of Adrian had come up. You suspected that he might have actually gone to the bedroom windows before making known his presence to you. You also were quite certain that either the castle itself had a power to resist an incursion from the outside or that it was covered in magical wards that would enable Adrian to know if someone uninvited came in. Either way, Godfrey had been unable to get in. He had practically shivered with excitement when you went closer to the window. “Open the latch, little Morris,” he had crooned, red eyes bright and fixed on your neck. “Let me in.”

“Come in and get me. If you can,” you had taunted, making sure to brush the hair back over your shoulders, exposing your throat in its entirety. “Afraid that Adrian will notice you?”

“That half-breed?” Godfrey’s scoffing had not fooled you, nor had it completely obscured the naked greed that roared to the surface before he pushed it down. It had only been for the shadow of a moment but you saw it. “That youngling with the blood of a mortal and Dracula flowing through its veins?”

His own words had given him away. Never before had you considered that full-blooded vampires might view Adrian as anything less than themselves. The thought that Godfrey might actually have the desire to feed on Adrian horrified you to the core in a place where you had put away all your imaginations of how your siblings had died, whether it was by the sword and dagger that you could see Godfrey wearing, or whether it had been his teeth that had rent their heads from their necks, or whether it had been those talons that had opened them up so that their blood ran freely into the earth, leaving their veins parched and beating hearts dry. Those were the things which had haunted you until time and courage had taught you to put them away. Now Godfrey had ripped open that Pandora’s box of nightmares. Suddenly you felt eight-years-old. When your parents had left to hunt him, you had been hysterical, convinced they would die too. For three years you had prayed every night for them to return. Trevor had been the only bright spot in your life then, once he had stopped pulling on your pigtails. 

If only he would come back. You buried the heels of your palms against closed eyes, as if that would suppress the headache you could feel roaring to life behind your skull. If only Trevor and Sypha would come back. The four of you would be a match for Godfrey and the tables would be turned. But if it were just you and Adrian….

In the semi-darkness you watched memory come to life. Watched as you hugged and kissed your brother and then your sister good-bye. Felt the weight of the silver locket you tethered to your sword in your small hand. Of course they would come back, you assured yourself. They always did. 

Then it was your parents who left. Trevor’s mother and father both had to restrain you while you screamed and kicked and basically frothed at the mouth, yelling for your parents to come back. Come back. The words had echoed on the wind. They hadn’t looked at you once while riding away. They hadn’t been the same when they had returned. And you learned there were things that a person couldn’t come back from.

You couldn’t go through that again. You just couldn’t. An image of you weeping over Adrian’s lifeless corpse nearly sent you to your feet to hurl into the fireplace. It made you beyond sick. You would rather die. 

That had been clear enough to you when you had agreed to Godfrey’s proposal. You would meet him, Morris against Morris without any outside interference. Both of you knew that was a lie. Unless the fight finished with seconds, there was bound to be noise and that kind of sound would draw Adrian’s attention. It was just a question of who would have the upper-hand when he did arrive. 

If Godfrey had you in his power, it would be over. Adrian would most likely do anything to keep you safe, including making monumentally stupid decisions like handing himself over to the ancient vampire. But if you could surprise Godfrey, Adrian would know what to do. You would make sure that he was safe, no matter what. And you did have an ace up your sleeve. 

You had no idea how Godfrey had tracked you down here or how he could have known that you had set out by yourself. Maybe he knew about your betrothal that would basically unite the Morris clan with another prominent Clan that hailed from Segovia. And that part of the wedding celebrations would be a very huge hunt for him because he had killed more Morrises since your siblings, and your new allies would be quite eager to get rid of the inherited family disgrace turned psychotic vampire, if only to prove that they could do something your Clan couldn’t.

But if he thought coming at you now like this was a good move on his part, you would give him cause to think otherwise. Sometimes, the past did come back to bite a person in the back. ‘Vampire, in this case.’ The smile that crossed your face was best described as vicious. It only softened and went away when your thoughts wandered and you remembered what Godfrey had said. 

_“It seems we’re both inordinately fond of vampires and somehow getting them to love us.”_

Adrian had never told you he loved you. That was a boundary not to be crossed. You didn’t know where the hell Godfrey had gotten that from. Or maybe you did. He had loved her, that vampire who had turned him, whom he had betrayed everyone for. Lionel had thought his son had been under some kind of spell, so together with his three other sons, he had found and killed her. And in doing so, he had made a monster. All these years and Godfrey had never forgotten her. He lived for killing in her name. 

What would you do to Godfrey if he murdered Adrian? Your chin sunk down on to the tops of your knees. The last of the fire died out. You would spend all your days hunting him. It would consume you. ‘The things we do for love.’ 

Your eyes widened. A gasp escaped you. Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuck. _No._ It couldn’t be. It was too soon. There was just no way. You didn’t even know what it was like to be in love with someone; all you had to go on was your parents and a rare handful of uncles, aunts and cousins who were happy with the partners they had been matched with. It was just sex. Mind-blowing, soul destroying wonderful sex on a scale you would never be able to experience with anyone else because the thought of someone other than Adrian touching you made you want to crawl out of your skin—

Oh God. You were in love with Adrian. 

You had lost your fucking marbles along with your heart. And you had no fucking clue as to when it had happened—actually you had your suspicions, however this was not the time—but now that you knew it, there was no way to put that truth back into whatever obscure corner it had sprung out from to upend your entire world.

You _loved_ him.

Terror and wonder bloomed in your chest. And that was how Adrian found you, plotting behind his back, nursing vengeance in your heart and absolutely reeling from a revelation you had no intention of telling him about. 

***

The space on the bed next to him was empty, but the sheets carried enough of your scent for Adrian to slide over to your side, burying his nose in the cool material, inhaling your smell, bunching the silky material in his hands as memories of the sinfully wicked yet sweet sweet torment you had subjected him to came rushing back in waves that had him fully hard again. You had been absolutely delighted by the fact that he didn’t need a recovery period, unlike mortal men, and he wondered if all lovers were as insatiable with each other as you and he were. You took everything, claimed him so thoroughly that sometimes he found it frightening to think of how much he had given away. That day when he had proposed being lovers, he had been rather naïve, Adrian thought, a rueful grin briefly carving itself on his lips before fading. He wondered if you knew how much of him you had, if you would even want to know. You, who had always talked so casually and carelessly about past lovers and sexual experiences. Sometimes it struck him as callous and try as he might, he couldn’t help but wonder if one day, you would mention him in the same breath or even think of him in the same way as all the others who had tumbled in and out of your bed. 

Once upon a time the knowledge of your ex-lovers wouldn’t have bothered him. Now, it was something he didn’t want to dwell too much upon and Adrian did _not_ want to think about you running into them once you left the castle. Once you left him. Or the man that you would eventually have to marry. And the children you would have. The image of you with another man’s baby in your arms was enough to raise a bitter storm that he instinctively shied away from it. For in that storm was a darkness that he found frightening, because it was a part of him. 

And yet…his heart tugged in his chest, fluttered delicately but strongly enough for him to feel it against his ribs, a beat he could not extinguish. Hope. It was there. Foolish, dangerously so. You hadn’t given him any indication that you would consider staying. On the contrary, you had made it amply clear that you were going to leave; that was part of the agreement. “We’re going to get hurt,” you had warned him with the wisdom of experience. Now he understood what you meant. It was going to be a thousand times worse letting you go because now he knew what it was like to be with you. But it was worth it. 

He knew what it was like to be wrapped up in the sheer force that you were, to be unravelled and laid bare, exposed like an aching nerve. He knew the softness of your kisses beyond the bed and sex, knew a sweetness that went beyond the pleasure of any climax when he realised you were touching him more often. A hand on his back. An arm around his waist. Feather kisses on his cheek and neck. Your hand linked with his just before you fell asleep. Because somehow you had realised he craved that kind of intimacy as well. You were gentle with him, tender in a way that surprised him not because he had thought you incapable of it, but because you had shared so much of that. Sometimes he watched you as you slept and wondered if you perhaps, like him, had given more than you had intended. He wanted to ask you, but instinct told him not to, warned him that you would close yourself off from him and, frightened enough at the thought of losing you more than he would already have to, he kept silent. 

The first time he told you he loved you, he hadn’t meant to. The words had spilled out in Adamic; he had learnt it because it was one of a handful of obscure languages he hadn’t studied (and also because he was secretly competitive as hell and couldn’t wait to see Sypha’s face when he addressed her using it). That day in the study, the sight of you leaning above him, your hair beaded with sunlight, the glow of it on your skin and in your eyes, the sensation of being inside you, it had been much too much and not enough. You were the loveliest thing he had ever seen and held and when you moved, you had lit his body on fire and it was more than his heart could take. How fitting to tell you in the first language ever created words he was speaking for the first time to another in that capacity. 

_I love you._

He could never tell you that. He could only imagine how horrified you would be. It would complicate things beyond measure in a situation where there was only one ending. So he contented himself with thinking it, with expressing it in every other way but the direct truth. And he had only three and a half weeks left with you. Every moment you weren’t with him was one more that he was going to regret. 

After dressing himself, he went in search of you, following the faint trail of your scent which led him to the study. The last thing he expected to find was you sitting in absolute darkness. He knew it unnerved you. From an ordinary person’s perspective, it was already uncomfortable enough and you knew better than most the things that came out of the night and shadows. And there was the sight of you curled up in an almost child-like manner on the chair, knees drawn up, arms clasped, hands tightly linked, as if trying to ward off something. You jumped when he called your name softly, eyes wide and startled. 

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, striding forward, going down on his knees so that he could see you face to face. You were already reaching for him, uncoiling, arms going around his shoulders. Your breathing was calm, far too controlled while your heart was beating as if you had just run for miles. “What is it?” 

For the longest time you were silent so he held you, waited until you were ready to speak. “I’m finished with the books here. And with the ones in the Hold.” He pulled back. You wouldn’t meet his gaze so he cupped your face gently with his hands and made you look at him. His breath caught; your eyes were shining far too brightly, alight with unwashed tears you would not let fall. “There’s nothing left to read. I got what I came for.”

You could leave now, he supposed. The only thing keeping you here were the days you had promised him that both of you would have. “We still have time. Some time.” He knew it wasn’t just you that he was reassuring. 

You nodded, your hands coming up to cover his. You took a deep breath, visibly steeling yourself. “Adrian, when I go back to my parents, it will be to meet my fiancé. I’ll probably be married within a week after that.”

It might have been better if something dramatic happened, like in books or plays. Thunder and lightning. The earth opening up. Howling winds ripping through cities, bursting windows and doors open. 

Instead there was just a terrible silence. A rivulet that became a stream, a stream that became a river, a river that became a flood and it was all contained inside, resonating and wrapped within him and he didn’t know what else to do but look at you, touch you, feel you safe within his grasp and think: how could that be? Meanwhile, beyond the both of you, beyond the castle walls, time and the world outside continued on in an inexorable match, pulling you both along like the moon did the seas. 

“You always knew I was going to be married.” 

Yes. Yes he did. He had known that, you had always been honest about it. But he hadn’t known it would be so soon. Something dark in his blood came roaring to the surface and for one frightening moment, Adrian decided that he would not let you go, no matter what you said, no matter what you wanted. He would kill _anyone_ that tried to help you escape. 

It passed as quickly as it came, leaving him raw, shaking and bruised in its wake. “I’m sorry.” You touched his face, your hand like ice. And then you were falling into each other, he was dragging you out of the chair, your legs wrapped around his waist, the wet heat of tears drowning desperate kisses, violent shudders crushed to stillness as you locked your arms around each other. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. 

“Don’t be,” he told you hours later, limbs tangled with yours, the sheets rumpled and twisted like remnants on a battlefield as you lay in the candle-lit darkness, drapes closed against the world outside and the danger Adrian knew nothing about. “It shouldn’t be your burden alone to bear.” He thought you had been apologising for revealing such news to him. He had no idea that your words were for the secret that you were hiding using—not a lie—but another truth. Distraction, you knew, was a kind of deceit. But you were a soldier, first and foremost, a hunter. It was your job to dance with darkness to protect what mattered. Gently, you traced your finger over Adrian’s wrist, half-aware that you were writing your name on his skin, convinced that this was the lesser evil. Nothing mattered more than Adrian. You would do anything to keep him safe.


	18. Bond of Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm back with a new chapter! There were some concepts I took the opportunity to explore and I hope I've managed to bring something interesting to the table. As always, your support and encouragement for the last chapter is very much appreciated and please, please let me know what you think about this chapter because I am actually quite happy with how it turned out (!) and I hope you feel the same way.
> 
> Oh yes, please do check out this link: https://la-saffron.tumblr.com/post/616710233361874944/the-bare-arms-of-trees-by-stilastarla-on-ao3-is-an
> 
> La Saffron has made some lovely artwork based on the tree scene in Chapter 12 and I love it so much!!!😭❤️ Do have a look and let her know what you think too!  
> ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You dreamed of blood and steel, of familiar silhouettes framed in sunlight so bright that you couldn’t see their faces even though knew you would never see them again. This wasn’t real, you knew that. But the part of you that always mourned dived deeper into the dream, chasing ghosts, clinging to the past. Shadows crawled at the edge of wakefulness, the shadow of a threat now made flesh because of the monster you had always feared had finally shown up at your window. 

Silver flashed in your hand. Heart-shaped, engraved with beautiful spiralling patterns. 

“It will keep you safe,” your sister’s voice whispered, fragments on a wind that carried her away. The weight of your brother’s favourite dagger rested by your side. That was all you had left to hold. 

Godfrey. His face was before yours, only his eyes were green and black and sad. “The things we do for love,” he said softly. He showed you his hands, dark with gore, flecked with glinting gold strands tangled up in his claws.

“Adrian,” you howled. But somehow it came out a suffocated whimper. 

Someone called your name softly. You were being turned, the whisper of silk on skin, the weight of his body as he covered you like a shield to stop you from thrashing. “Wake up.” You groaned. The dream was crushing you, clinging like quicksand. “Sweetheart.” He sounded so far away. 

“Don’t go. Not you.” At least that was what you meant to say through the tears choking you. 

Pain shot through your shoulder, two burning pinpricks like white hot stars that tore through the nightmare enshrouding you. Your eyes snapped open, lashes wet and hot with tears. And found Adrian on top of you, his face so close to yours that he filled the entire expanse of your vision, golden eyes dark with worry. There was blood on his lips. Your blood. Your shoulder throbbed fiercely and you winced. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, cupping your face with his large hand. “I didn’t know what else to do. You just wouldn’t wake up.” 

“So you bit me?” You shifted a little, reaching over to touch your shoulder. Your fingertips came away flecked with some red. Adrian looked stricken. But his pupils were dilated as well. 

“Twice.” He blinked, looking down and to the side, almost furtive. As if he was ashamed. “I did it twice. When you didn’t respond the first time I had to…” 

Raising yourself on one elbow, you kissed him softly on the mouth, tasting the copper sweet of yourself on it. When you licked his lip, you felt the sharp breath he inhaled. “Thank you.” You ran your hand into his long hair, tugging softly, then down his broad shoulder, his pale skin, felt its warmth, cool in comparison to yours. He was alive and well. _I love you_. “It was a just a dream. Although the next time you might consider slapping me awake.”

He looked somewhat horrified at that comment. “I could never strike you.”

“Ah, but biting me is more acceptable?” 

His pupils, which had been contracting, flared round and wide once more, like a cat’s in the dark. ‘Or lion’s.’ His mouth, finely carved and sensual, twitched and suddenly you wondered just how badly Adrian was fighting the urge to lick clean the remnants of your blood from his lips. Or the words he was keeping inside because he thought those might frighten you. ‘Vampire psychology,’ you recalled. For all the knowledge within the Hold and the collected wisdom of the ages that the Belmonts and Morrises had accumulated, there was nothing about how a vampire’s mind worked, or the feelings it might have in different situations. Everything centred on their monstrous appetites, their need for control and dominance, their selfishness and cruelty. And therefore you had been taught how to exploit those. But there was nothing about feelings beyond that, let alone love or kindness. Things that Adrian had shown himself immensely capable of. ‘Even Vlad Dracula Tepes.’ Adrian had told you how his parents had met. Dracula had not turned away a woman he could have easily drained to a husk. He had appreciated a fine mind hungry for knowledge and a heart bold enough to risk danger to obtain it. And he had sensed her gentle spirit and responded to it in a way that all the books and teachings and lore insisted was impossible: he had loved her. 

By all counts Dracula had been extraordinary, both as a vampire and as a person. And Adrian perhaps even more so. A child born from great love, a miracle that defied the laws governing human and vampire physiologies. Perhaps those stupid fairy tales held this grain of truth, if nothing else. Perhaps love truly was the greatest magic. Fucking hell, you thought wryly, look at what it had done to you. 

Running your knuckles along Adrian’s jawline, an unconscious and uncanny mirroring of one of the ways in which he liked to touch you to convey affection, you spread your fingers across his cheek, finger tips brushing the shell of his ear. He shivered, his inhale involuntary; his ears were extraordinarily sensitive and you knew from experience that just kissing or biting down on the lobes could get him fully hard. But right now, sex was not on your mind. You were quite certain that your confrontation with Godfrey was going to result in death, most likely yours and if all went as planned, his. The candles had burned down to congealed white puddles and through the cracks in the drapes, you could see slivers of blue. Dawn was arriving; come evening, you would face Godfrey. But for now, all the world was simply Adrian and you wanted to know everything there was to learn about him. When you died, he would be the last thing, the only thing, you would think of. It was, in your opinion, the most bearable way to go. 

“Adrian, I will never be afraid of you.” His eyes widened, crystalline even in the bedroom shadows. “There is nothing you can tell me that will turn me away.” For a moment he just remained like that, still, rigid as a beautiful marble statue, pinning you with a searching gaze that you felt was boring into your soul. Then he sighed, grasped your hand and pulled it towards his mouth, kissed your fingers and then your palm. He whispered those strange words you had gotten used to but never asked him about. You had a fine set of instincts and they warned you that maybe you were not ready to know what it was that Adrian felt compelled to say aloud and yet keep secret. If you thought about it more, you would probably have arrived at a reasonable conclusion but you had never wanted anything to get in the way of going home and now… He pressed your linked hands to the scar running over his chest, thumb running over the rise and dip of your knuckles, as if he would memorise your very bones. It was enough to know you loved him. 

When he spoke, his voice was low. He looked at you through his lashes, something that invariably raised your pulse and made your heart beat just that much faster. “It is not a question of more acceptable. It is a matter of instinct.” Even then, despite what you had told him, he paused, waited, as if expecting you to flinch or show apprehension or even disgust. And suddenly you remembered something you had thought of in the earlier days when you had known him. A dhampir child would probably not have had many friends, if any at all. If Godfrey’s opinion of Adrian was how other vampires looked at him… And Adrian had never talked about any other friends apart from Sypha and Trevor. You had known it must have been a lonely childhood, despite the love of his parents. But now you were seeing a little of what it might have been like in his past. So human-looking but the moment he opened his mouth, the sight of his fangs would scatter any potential friends he sought to make. Hell, if you had run into him as children you would have tried to stake him, as per your training. 

When you didn’t say anything or flinch or indicate any kind of discomfort, he continued. “I only meant to hold you steady, to calm you. But when you didn’t respond… I could see that you couldn’t wake up and that… and that I needed to bite down harder.”

You pretended as if you couldn’t feel the way his hand tightened over yours. “It worked.” You shrugged your shoulders. “And I’m glad it did. That was a fucking awful nightmare. Are these instincts you’ve always had?”

He leaned back into the pillows and you followed suit, rolling onto your side to face him. “I’m certain they have always been there. But I haven’t always felt them. Not until you.”

Well. You were no naïve starry-eyed waif. You were a seasoned, hardened monster hunter whose parents had raised you, not on fairy tales, but on tales of what was the best way to stake a vampire, or the fastest way to cut the wings of a malphas or the usefulness of holy water and salt. And even then, Adrian’s confession, softly spoken, had quite managed to blow you away, along with all the thoughts in your head and your ability to speak. It was a good thing you were lying on a bed because you were quite certain your knees had gone a little weak. He smiled softly, looked at you through his lashes once more and you knew that everything you felt was showing on your face, clear as the pale dawn light filtering into the room. 

“So—” You cleared your throat, willing yourself to sound less breathless. “So what else have these instincts been telling you?”

His eyes fell to your shoulder, the side he had bitten, the one currently nestled against the pillows. He was thinking so deeply that you could have sworn you could hear his thoughts. His doubts. “Adrian, did your father drink from your mother?”

“What?” Now he was the one who sounded breathless, if only because it was strictly from surprise. Something like guilt flashed across his face, swift as summer lightning and disappearing just as quickly. 

“Did your father drink from your mother? Is there..” You groped for the right words. 

“Does blood-drinking mean more to vampires than just death, debauchery and survival?” He formed and finished the rest of your sentence. For a moment you thought you might have offended him. But the little sigh he let out told you otherwise. “At least it did to my father. So yes, he did drink from my mother, with her permission of course.” 

That last part hadn’t been necessary, but you knew where it was coming from, this need to protect what his parents had, to make sure that you knew his father hadn’t always been a monster. “So it was part of a bonding process?” You hazarded the best guess you could come up with. 

“Yes, it was. I don’t know of any other vampire-human couplings, present company excluded,” he added with a faint smile, “let alone ones who shared a relationship like the kind my parents had. So I have no idea if it was just them or if it’s a capacity all vampires possess—though given the way my people have treated yours, I doubt it.”

“Humans are your people too. And we both know cruelty and brutality aren’t exclusive to either species.”

He nodded briefly, an acknowledgement of your words. 

“Adrian?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

You paused, wondering about the wisdom of what was about to come out of your mouth. Truth be told, a very large part of you was extremely apprehensive, a little terrified even. It went against everything you had been trained in since your childhood. Every piece of lore, every case study you had ever read crammed to the forefront of your mind. Everything you had ever seen on a hunt. For a moment, you went silent, quite unable to speak. You could feel yourself faltering. You hadn’t said anything, he would never know… 

He murmured your name, the soft luminous gaze he wore melting away, replaced by a much sharper one, as if he sensed something was amiss. And you remembered the words you told him. This was Adrian, the person whom you would never be afraid of because you trusted him. “Do you want to drink from me?”

A shudder ripped through him, so hard that you could see it. His grip on your hand turned bruising. Then he let you go, like a man that had been holding fire and only now just realised it. He sat up and so did you, the air between the both of you taut and humming with something you couldn’t quite place your finger on. Possibly because you were distracted by Adrian’s eyes. His pupils were so blown that the black almost swallowed up the gold. It was not natural in the very least. It also told you just how excited he was, and that you might have made an offer that you had no way of rescinding. When he spoke, his voice was so low and hoarse you had to really focus to make out what he was saying. 

“Was that a question or was that an offer?”

“I—” You stopped speaking when he reached for you, a low growl in his throat. Then he blinked, some of the feverish light in his gaze subsiding and he jerked back, snagging the sheets, gripping those instead. Feathers drifted like snowflakes. Light deepened, somehow finding its way to him, turned his hair into a halo of bright flame. He looked wild, dangerously beautiful. You licked your lips, mouth dry, keenly aware that not everything running through you was fear. 

“Don’t speak unless you are absolutely certain.” His knuckles turned white, though he held himself perfectly still, barely leashed. “If I were to drink from you like that—” He broke off, eyes travelling along the curve of your neck and shoulder. “It will be something only you and I will share. It will bond us.”

“How?” There was a ragged edge to his breathing that was becoming more pronounced. If there was ever a time to change your mind and get the hell out of the room, now was the precise moment, when Adrian was still in control of himself. You didn’t move a muscle. 

“A connection. Father—my father warned me to be very careful. Selective.”

The fine hairs on the back of your neck and arms rose. Your scalp prickled. Dracula had left the traditional birds and bees talk to Lisa. For him to speak to his son about this…There might be more to this bonding than just a demonstration of supreme trust which would come solely from your side. “So if I were to offer…” 

His jaw clenched at that, almost as if he was grinding his teeth. Beneath his skin you could make out all the hard lines of his muscles, drawn tight with tension. If the sheets had been alive, they would be good and dead now, with the life choked out of them, given how hard Adrian was twisting them. Part of you, the idiotic adrenaline seeking side of you that thrived on danger, thrilled at the sight.

“Yes,” he growled. “I want you.”

Those words went right through your heart and then down your belly, curling between your thighs. You felt yourself practically throb with desire. Adrian’s nostrils flared. His mouth parted, fangs glinting long and white as they emerged. Good God, and you were about to agree to let him put those in you. 

“It’s an offer—” 

That was all you managed. Then Adrian was reaching out, lifting you effortlessly as he yanked you tight against him, pulled you onto his lap, one hand at the back of your neck, the other wrapped around your waist. Instinctively you flattened the palms of your hands against his broad chest, trying to put some space in between, your whole body a coil of tension as you fought a wave of instinctual panic. You were shivering with anticipation and a healthy dose of fear you couldn’t help but feel. 

When he spoke, it was smoke and silk, the shining edge of a blade wrapped in moonlight and shadows, warm honey poured over sun-baked sand. His words went right into your ears in a way that they never had, so soft and gentle, yet you couldn’t hear anything else but the sound of him, like the rumble of a storm whose eye you were caught in. “You cannot take that back now, sweetheart. You’re mine.”

You were not anyone’s chattel—well, maybe you were an asset of your parents to be put up for auction, at least that was your private conclusion in more bitter moments—but you never liked it when any man staked a claim on you and you always made your thoughts known, whether it was through a sharp word or for the more obtuse ones, an arse-kicking. Something inside you bridled at his words but it was weak, like the faint water rings made when someone tosses a pebble into the vast sea. When he buried his face against your neck, the warmth of it, the featherlight scrap of his fangs against your skin made you moan, the sensation cresting like a small wave through your body only to nestle within your aching core. Hunger flickered, a fire stirring to life in your veins. 

“I’ve wanted you, for so long.” His large hands spanned the length of your back, long fingers tracing down your spine, curling around your shoulders like a protective shield, exerting a gentle pressure. “No one else but you.” 

Heavy warmth flooded your limbs, easing the tension from your body. You found yourself leaning into him, into the deep overwhelming caress that was the sound of his voice, against the strength of his form. You were safe, the thought came again and again, stealing through your mind, a repeated echo that soothed the panic you felt. It was all you could think of, the only clear meaning you could focus on. Everything else was wind, slipping out of your grasp, wild and whirling and Adrian was the only solid thing you held onto.

Some tiny part of you that was still lucid was quite certain this was some kind of power Adrian was exerting to get you to relax. This, that part of you insisted, was how a vampire made a thrall, how, if said vampire wasn’t in a brutal mood, it got its victim to stand still and let itself be drained to death. But that notion seemed awfully far away, as if somehow it didn’t apply, couldn’t apply to this wonderful thing happening to you. 

He drew back, pulling a small whimper of protest that slipped from your lips which stopped the moment his large hand cupped the side of your face. You nuzzled into the warm smoothness of it, eyes closed because your lids felt so heavy. He gave a soft rumble of approval and you felt the sound vibrate through your own chest. It didn’t stop though but continued, almost silent but there, a distinct thrumming that you felt all over which made you ache even more. Adrian was…he was, for want of a better word, purring. And it felt fucking magical. Your bones turned to liquid. If not for him, you would have melted into a puddle onto the sheets. 

“Look at me,” he ordered hoarsely. Your eyes, which until a moment before had been sealed shut by the warm languor lying over your body like a net, sprang open. He caught your gaze with his, eyes like golden suns framed by lashes and in them, you could see your reflection. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, tongue clumsy in your mouth, your thoughts thick as quicksand, any protest you had about how you were no one’s property swallowed up in a golden fog.

“Say it,” he hissed, his thumb running over your mouth, dipping past the open seam of your lips. “Say you belong to me.” 

Something inside you snapped tight, a sharp pull that bordered on pain, a force that tugged you towards him, directing you to please Adrian because there was only him, only him. He was all that mattered. That last fibre of resistance you clung to crumbled into thin air. “Yes Adrian.” Those vibrations you felt quickened; he growled and you thought you might come alone just from that. “I belong to you.” 

“Say you’re mine, only mine.”

“I’m yours, always yours.” He kissed you then, softly, tenderly, still holding your gaze and in his you saw something which stirred your own instincts and brought a piercing light to the fog-laden mess that was your mind. “And you are mine.”

Lips pulled back, his fangs slid out, longer than you had even seen. His eyes turned to dark glittering amber shards that pierced you, almost too much to bear. “Yes.” It was a threat, a promise and a love letter all rolled into one. “Yes.” He tilted your head up, exposing your neck, brushed away the strands of your hair so that your skin was completely bare. “My first.” You stared up into the shadows pierced by beams of sunlight, felt his hands on you, his mouth and teeth, nipping, skimming up until he stopped at a spot an inch or so from the soft unprotected area where your jawline met your neck. In your chest, your heartbeat was slow and steady. You knew you were not prey. Instead, you were the prize. “My last.”

Adrian’s teeth sank in through your skin and flesh, his hand fisting in your hair, holding you still, the other splayed hard against the base of your spine. The moan which shattered the silence came from both of you. Your mouth fell open, you could feel each breath you took, each breath he took as his tongue lapped over the aching spot where he had pierced you. “Adrian,” you whispered, his name rolling off your lips like a prayer. 

“So sweet,” he murmured wetly, his tongue never pausing. 

Pleasure lanced through you, sudden and unexpected. You could taste copper on your tongue; something sweeter than honey, more potent than wine filled your mouth. Oh fuck. You realised you were tasting yourself, tasting how you felt to him. You dug your nails into his chest weakly, hips moving, trying to grind down on him. Wanting to be closer, you wrapped your legs around his waist. “Please Adrian.”

“Sweetheart. So good to me. So good for me.” He licked harder, his mouth sucking with bruising force on your skin, fangs sinking in deeper. 

You keened, spine arching despite his attempts to keep you still. It was too much. His pleasure and yours, mixed together, burned like a conflagration through you. You sobbed. You begged. Clutched at him, pulled on his hair, silk-soft strands locked around your fingers, manacled around your wrists. “Please Adrian, _please_.” You were burning up and you needed him more than anything in your life, as if he was life. “Oh God.” Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, rolled down only for him to catch them with the pads of his thumbs. 

“Promise me—”

You could feel him, cradled between your thighs, fully hard and aching to the point of pain, blind with desire for you and you wanted him no less. In that moment, you would have burned down kingdoms just to have him. “Yes, Adrian. Yes, anything—”

“You will never let anyone else drink from you.”

Frantically you nodded, hardly hearing the words. “No one else but you.” His mouth, red with the essence of your life, was a glinting crimson slash and you could hardly take your eyes from it. 

“If you ever let anyone touch you like this, I’ll kill them,” he snarled and it was as if he was changing before you, the skin of his face drawing too tightly over the elegant bones beneath. A gaunt haunting mask, feral and vicious, it ought to have terrified you. Instead you leaned forward and pressed your forehead against his. 

“I promise,” you breathed. “You are my first and last.” Then his hands were spanning your hips, angling you. His mouth returned to your neck. He impaled you in the same breath with which he bit you. And you came with a scream, lurching against him so hard that you almost knocked him over. He reared up, drove you back into the pillows, caging you with his body, fucking you through your climax while you writhed under him, drowning in unending waves of white-hot ecstasy which wouldn’t stop because you could feel his pleasure setting in, the twin joys of being buried inside you in all the ways that mattered boiling over as he continued to suck at your neck while rocking into you. 

When Adrian came, you shattered as well. There wasn’t anything you could do, you couldn’t even move. He rolled, pulling you on top so that his frenzied grinding wouldn’t crush you against the bed, the broken stream of thick snarls and moans issuing from him melding with your own higher-pitched cries as his orgasm ravaged you. The world unravelled, turned inside out, shapeless and blissfully dark. All that anchored you was the warm bite of his fingers on your hip and in your hair while he held you against his shuddering body, the brush of his mouth against your forehead, and as the storm settled, through the bond of blood, above your breathing, you could hear the sound of your hearts beating as one.


	19. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, firstly, thanks so much for the feedback given on the last chapter! I had a blast writing it and I'm so pleased that you all liked the idea of the blood bond as well. Sometimes I try new things and it doesn't always work out, so my Muse was much relieved and the result of that is this chapter. It's the last one before the big confrontation that we have been building up to. One small, small reference to The Witcher and LOTR (movie version). As always, I hope you enjoy it.  
> __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You were sleeping so soundly. Adrian shifted you gently, sliding as much of himself as he could against you. Manners and consideration dictated that he get out of the bed, now that the last cobwebs of slumber had fallen from him and he was certain he couldn’t sink back into the warmth and weight of you, and sleep. Instinct however, was ordering him to do otherwise. Everything inside him gravitated towards you and short of a grave threat to your safety, nothing was going to move him out from between the sheets and relinquish his hold on you. At least he had enough self-control not to spread your thighs and thrust himself back into the tight warmth of your body, though that took quite a bit of effort. ‘Mine.’ The thought ran through him compulsively as he pressed his cheek against the silk of your hair, breathing in your scent, the taste of your skin and blood still so powerful his senses felt raw, overwhelmed. He could hear your hearts beating in sync, something which thrilled him to no end, and he could not be satisfied until he had pushed your hair aside so that he could see the bright red marks of his teeth against the canvas of your skin, mottled a variety of faint and deep purples, the overall shape of the large bruise bearing a vague resemblance to that of an orchid. 

“Mine,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss against the spot. He had no wish to drink from you while you were asleep, though the urge to drink in general was there, now that he had tasted your blood and would never be rid of the intoxication that it was. What was so precious about the process was that you were awake and a willing participant, willing to give and receive. You were a hunter and against every instinct that you had possessed, you had done just that. You were, Adrian thought, exactly what he had wanted and some part of him fancifully thought that his beloved mother might have sent you his way, one last gift from her to make up for his losses so that he wouldn’t be alone. 

Your fingers, twined with his, fluttered before stilling. Then you moved slightly, murmuring something he couldn’t quite make out. But it didn’t matter, because within him a sense of yearning followed by a quiet calm arose and he knew those feelings weren’t his; they were yours. You were dreaming. If a nightmare were to come to you, he would be able to sense it in time and wake you before it sunk its claws fully in. He could protect you, keep you safe. Not that you would ever say you needed that. A wry smile wound its way across his mouth. You were fiercely independent, perhaps to the point of foolishness—if that incident with the falling stairs in the Hold was any indication—and the only thing you ever let him do for you was cook because, as you had declared, he shouldn’t be subjected to your cooking. 

At that moment a streak of anxiety shot through him. You jerked. Before he could stop it, that strange almost silent purring erupted from his chest, vibrated low in his throat and chest. You all but melted against him, curling tighter into his arms as he gathered you closer. Instantly, the feeling abated and you calmed down, drifting back into undisturbed sleep. Of its own volition, the purring continued until your heart settled into a slow consistent beat which matched his. Then it ceased. Once more, surprise washed over him. He hadn’t even known he could do that; it was a reflex as natural as breathing. Neither had he been prepared for what the bond had forged between you both. He had been in control of the process and if he had wanted to bend you entirely to his will, he could have. Which was why it was, perhaps, an act of ultimate trust. You trusted him not to hurt you, not to put his own desires before yours, not to betray you in any way. And in return he felt everything you felt. The fierceness of your desire, so great it stole his breath away. The pleasure he gave you and which you found in him and how he could barely separate the sensations roiling through you from the ones tearing through him. Contentment and affection vast as an ocean and as deep as you both fell asleep.

How you could ever want to leave, at that moment, was something inconceivable to Adrian. Clearly you did not want to go. It wasn’t lost on him that your fractured rest had begun the moment you broke the news of your impending marriage. At the thought of that, his lips curled, a snarl forming and it took everything he had to tamp it down. Whatever you felt for him—whether attraction and friendship had grown into love or if there was even a chance it could—you were hardly likely to forgive him if he turned your betrothed into a bloody pile of ripped flesh and broken bones, or killed any of your family while in the process of eviscerating the former. And the worst part was, Adrian knew he didn’t care. The bond had strengthened a great deal between you both, had brought you closer in ways unimagined and which nothing but experience could make comprehensible. But it had also magnified the darker inclinations of his nature, the things that stalked at the edges of his subconscious which he governed with a natural sense of decency and morality, along with whatever his parents had taught him. You would not forgive him, but that alone might not be enough to stop him.

And that was perhaps why his father had tried to drown Wallachia and the world in blood, despite knowing how much his mother would have hated it. Because something beyond his control, something more powerful than love, that something had eaten him up inside, devouring all that was left of the man, leaving the monster. Adrian listened to your breathing, thought of how outside, nothing else had changed in the world, only that to him it seemed so much smaller because of how your presence had grown. You filled his world now. And if you left before he was prepared to let you go, how large the void would be and the terrible things he would do to fill it, just to stem the agony of loss.

No wonder his father, his brilliant, stern and surprisingly conservative father had told him that he had to exercise the utmost caution about whom he would bond with. “It will have a profound effect on your existence, son,” Father had stressed, the alchemical manuscripts forgotten for once. This was the far more important lesson and Adrian had been old enough to perceive that. “It will change you, in ways you cannot conceive. Such as agreeing to forgo flight and shapeshifting in lieu of walking about like a peasant—do not repeat that to your mother,” the older man had added sternly, albeit with a twinkle in his eye. “This person you choose to share yourself with, to share this with, you will never forget them. For you, they always will be.”

“Will be what, Father?” Adrian had asked after long moments passed. 

“They simply will be. They will always be there. Like the sun, the moon, this earth. Even if all that is familiar fades, the principles governing this universe will continue. And so this person will continue in your universe.”

“But Mother…” he stopped speaking.

“What is it, son?” 

He simply stared at his father, too afraid to speak. 

“Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes,” Father had said, ignoring Adrian’s groan because everyone in the family knew he hated his middle name and it was equally well-known that it was the sole doing of the man who had begotten him and wasn’t in the least sorry for giving him such a name. “What have I said about speaking your mind? Besides,” wine-coloured eyes softened, “I think I know what you want to ask but I would prefer to hear it from you.”

“Mother is mortal. She…cannot always be there.”

Father’s smile had struck him to the core. It was so soft, so sad and yet through that sadness he could see joy. “She will and will not be. It is her choice and I cannot bring myself to change that. She will live on after her death, as long as I live, for that is how long my love for her will live.” The comforting weight of his father’s hand on his head, then his shoulder. “And she will live on in your love for her as well, son. In this you are like me, for we are immortal.”

He had held his father’s hand tightly. “We will always have each other.” 

“That is correct. You are your mother’s greatest gift to me. We will always have each other. I only hope we will have her for as many years as can be granted to us. She insists that she is healthy enough to live to a hundred. I intend to try for one hundred and fifty. At least that much my knowledge can do for us.”

But Mother had died well before seeing the end of her fourth decade. They had been robbed. And the world had seen Dracula’s fury as it had never been seen before. 

Still, at least they had had twenty years together as husband and wife. 

As if sensing his unrest, you stirred, eyes opening, your expression sleepy but concerned. “Are you okay?” you murmured, freeing your hand from his so that you could lay it against his cheek. “I can feel you.” Wonder brightened your face but didn’t erase the beginnings of the frown furrowing your brow. “You’re worried…upset…”

He cut you off with a kiss. “Just a passing thought, sweetheart. I’m fine.” You lifted a brow, looked slightly sceptical but didn’t press the point. And then thankfully, your stomach growled rather loudly, offering up the distraction of lunch.

Somewhere in between the kisses and cleaning each other up and the cooking, which was considerably delayed and slightly burnt because the two of you decided to put the table to another use apart from its original purpose—twice—Adrian decided that somehow, he would broach the topic of you staying. He had to do it. Either way, it would be impossible to keep in. At least if he did it earlier, he would have more time to persuade you. And if you didn’t agree… Well, he would cross that bridge if it came to that. 

***

“Is the bond permanent?”

Adrian glanced down at you, your hand wrapped firmly in his. You were in one of the many, many wings that dominated this labyrinthian castle and you didn’t recognise it at all. You only knew that it was on one of the lower levels because you could see from the windows that you were closer to the ground. Judging by the sun’s position and brightness, evening was a good five to six hours away. Godfrey didn’t need the cover of darkness; he just needed the absence of sunlight. From here, you couldn’t see the Manor and for once you were glad of that. 

“Does the thought of it being so make you unhappy?”

Fuck. This bond thing was trickier than you had imagined. In some ways, it granted a wonderful intimacy, only one step shy of being able to read each other’s thoughts. And on that note, thank God he couldn’t read your thoughts. You honestly didn’t want to think about Adrian’s reaction if he found out about your evening plans. In other ways, the bond made keeping secrets very difficult because Adrian was so attuned to your emotions. 

“Hm. And the thought of me being unhappy about it makes you unhappy.”

He tugged you closer, leaned down and swiftly nipped you on the ear, curling your linked hands around your back so you couldn’t escape. “Answer the question, you minx,” he murmured, drawing a chuckle from you.

“No, although it might complicate things. Sometimes a bit of space is necessary when couples quarrel. God knows, it’s helped my parents through quite a bit. And if all I can feel is how you feel…”

“Hmm. That is a point worth considering, not that I intend to pick a fight with you to investigate it.”

“However will we have angry sex then?” To your great amusement, Adrian actually flushed slightly at that. You could sense his question before he even asked it. “Yes, Adrian. I’m serious. That is a thing,” you replied. For all the time that you had spent exploring each other in bed, there was an innocence he had which you found sweetly endearing. Warmth curled in your belly, tightening your gut. “You’re imagining us doing that right now, aren’t you?”

He flushed more, the red creeping down the pale skin of his neck. “I completely agree. Sometimes, a bit of space is necessary.” His tone was flat, but the upturned corner of his mouth gave him away. Laughing, you tiptoed, brushed a kiss against his cheek and tugged him down the corridor. 

Some of the rooms weren’t shut and you did a double-take when you glimpsed, through a set of very tall doors of gleaming dark wood, a beautifully carved balustrade leading down to a huge sweeping marble staircase. Beyond that, immense chandeliers bedecked with thousands of exquisite, shining crystals threw spiralling beams of light on a huge vaulted ceiling decorated with stained glass and paintings depicting the stages of the moon against a velvet night on one end, and on the opposite side was the path of the sun as it moved through a clear sky. Down the middle, rivers of stars flowed. 

Your jaw dropped open. You changed direction and Adrian followed you as you stepped through into what you imagined heaven must look like, if only some of it. “Fuck me,” you muttered, coming to a stop against the balustrade. The dance floor was huge and inlaid with floral patterns of gold that resembled angel wings. 

“Later.” Adrian stood so closely behind you that you felt the cooler warmth of his body radiating against your back. Once more he nipped your ear, caging you in on either side with both his arms planted on the wood. And you loved it. You absolutely adored having him so close. It was as if an invisible string tied both of you together and if there was one, it would be red, because it was forged by blood. Once upon a time the thought of being bound to another on such a level would have sent you reaching for your sword or running for the hills. How you had changed. Maybe it was the bond, maybe it was because you were in love. Most likely it was both. Either way, it didn’t really matter. ‘Mine,’ you thought, pressing back against him.

“Why would your father have this huge ballroom here? Did your parents throw a lot of parties?” That seemed a little at odds with what he had shared of his childhood. By all counts, it had been a very loving but rather private existence, at least based on what he told you and what you could infer.

He smiled. “Not at all. But my mother loved dancing and it pleased my father to give her as beautiful a place as he could conjure. It didn’t always look like this though.”

“Oh?”

“The castle takes on the attributes of its owner, at least some of them. I know you can sense the magic within the walls and it is, in its own way, a kind of entity.”

Godfrey asking you to open the window and let him in flashed to mind but you pushed it away to the furthest darkest corner you could mentally summon up. “So it protects you? I mean, your father did have people loyal to him and if they find out you’re living here…”

“The walls are warded and yes, the castle is its own defence, magically speaking. The only way in is through brute force and I will know at once.”

You studied the patterns on the dancefloor; beneath the light, the gold shone softly like fire seen through a veil. So Godfrey could have forced his way in. But he hadn’t. Maybe he was afraid of Adrian, but that was unlikely. Or he had other plans which perhaps did not involve killing you. He had offered over the years to turn some Morrises, although everyone had refused him. For one second the urge to tell Adrian about him was overwhelming. But then you remembered how many people you had lost to Godfrey and your desire to be honest died a quick death. You would handle him on your own. 

“It’s not entirely permanent, if you really are that worried.” 

“What? No I wasn’t—wait, what did you mean ‘not entirely permanent’?” You turned in his arms. “I am not worried about the bond,” you said as firmly as possible. It occurred to you that there might be some painful consequences for Adrian if you died; you shoved those away into the dark mental basement you had conjured earlier.

Once again, he looked wonderfully impassive but you clearly felt his relief. “My father didn’t tell me that much, because this is something intensely private. But he told me enough so that I would take it seriously. The bond is permanent in the sense that there is something now between us, something that neither time nor death can erase. There will always be a connection, and if we are absent from each other,” golden eyes caught yours meaningfully, “yearning.” 

Oh God. That was just… ‘Bloody fucking hell.’ Now you really were worried for Adrian. If only you had closed your big mouth this morning and not offered at all. If only you had thought a bit more rather than let your fool heart carry you away. 

His expression sharpened and you knew instantly he sensed the small storm inside you; you could feel the beginnings of one within him. “I’m mortal,” you blurted out quickly. “And you just said—”

He took your hand, dropped a kiss in the centre of your palm that tripled your heartbeat and looked you in the eye. “Yours is the first blood I have tasted, the only blood I want. My first and last.”

A fierce thrill flooded your system and it was impossible to tell which of you it came from. You were having the faintest suspicion that perhaps this blood bond was the equivalent of a wedding vow between a human and vampire—dhampir, in this case—when Adrian explained that all the other aspects such as the shared feelings and pleasures would fade in a matter of days and be renewed if he drank from you again. “And that is what I meant when I said not entirely permanent. So what were you thinking of then, if you weren’t worrying about the bond?”

Well, you hadn’t been worried about it then but you were fucking worried now. It took a considerable amount of the discipline and focus you had developed as a hunter to force yourself into some semblance of calm. “I was thinking that I rather do like dancing myself, and I was thinking of the first kill I made, right here in a ballroom like this one, though it wasn’t even a quarter as beautiful.”

“Vampire?”

You shook your head. “Doppler. It was masquerading as the Princess of—” You stopped, then turned slightly red. “Ah, I can’t really say much about that one. The Princess is still alive and so is the person who hired the doppler. However, I do want to ask. This ballroom, whatever it used to be like, the castle changed it to suit you, probably recently. Is that right?”

He hummed softly and looked pleased. “How could you tell?”

You looked at the sun and moon gazing at each other from across the ceiling and floor. Polar opposites yet the same, charting out time and all the ways in which they indicated it running its course. “I know you.” The kiss you gave him was soft, lingering. “Now, what was it you were going to show me?” 

As it turned out, Lisa Tepes had been as skilled at horticulture as she was at medicine. And her husband had built her a… Sunlight filtered in through glass, a rain of light on a world of green. “It’s beautiful. What do you call this?” 

“A greenhouse. The concept has existed since the Roman times but my father discovered glass works best for the plants.”

Plants? This was huge fucking garden with what looked like a bloody pond in the middle and a gazebo somewhere at the distant end. There were roses and lilies, even several species of orchids. But most of the greenhouse was dominated by rows and rows of herbs. Dianthus, nightshade, sage, feverfew, mullein, wolfsbane, dragon’s eye, just to name those you could see from where you stood. The garden was extraordinary beautiful and neat, a riot of colour that—All the effusive praise flew out of your head when your eyes lighted on a very familiar looking herb. It was the exact one you needed to make that tea which prevented unwanted pregnancies. 

A tea that you had completely forgotten about. Fuck. Before you could stop it, adrenaline spiked through your system.

Adrian lifted a quizzical brow at you. You hastily pointed out that some of these herbs were extremely rare and even more poisonous. “Not so odd for a knowledgeable doctor to have,” you added. “Sometimes, the best cures do come from the worst poisons. I’m just shocked to see the dragon’s eye. It’s supposed to be extinct.”

“It has been so for two centuries. But my father collected some on his travels before that occurred; he likes rare things and when she arrived, he gave them to my mother to cultivate. Her dream was to interbreed as many herbs as possible to produce one which would cure multiple ailments. She even talked about creating crops that were disease-resistant so that there would be less famine…” 

Taking you by the hand, Adrian led you down the marble-white path. You decided not to spoil the mood because you realised that you would never get to meet Lisa Tepes and this was his way of letting you get to know her. And she was an extraordinary woman, with ideas far ahead of her time which her husband had encouraged. As for the tea, your stomach turned slightly. That was contingent on if you survived Godfrey. It could wait. 

You spent the afternoon exchanging anecdotes about your parents, slowly traversing the garden path which you realised was shaped after a very obscure version of an infinity knot not seen in texts less than a thousand years old. Your mother, you told him, would love this garden. Your father though, would not have been allowed to set foot inside. “He has the rather magical ability to cause plants to die,” you said dryly. “It’s a mystery how it happens, but it does.” Adrian told you once, in a bid to escape lessons in Enochian, he had submerged himself in that huge pond whose surface was spanned by the reddest and largest lilies you had ever seen. 

“But—” You didn’t wait for him to reply. One glance at the surface of the pond told you everything you needed to know. It was perfectly still. Of course. “And if it had been running water?”

“I would have been affected, but less so than a full vampire. And if it had been, perhaps my father wouldn’t have been able to get his hands on me. Thankfully, Mother was around to intervene.” He looked at you. “I can’t imagine you running away from your tutors.”

“I,” you said with faux haughtiness, “happened to be a star pupil.” Even Trevor’s demanding parents had been impressed with your capacity to bury your head in a book and learn. Granted, you didn’t understand everything on your own but your memory and innate enjoyment of learning went a long way. 

“Ah. So I suppose you’ll be the one fishing the children out of the pond then.”

Some silver tears had caught your eye, a plant with long dangling fronds dotted with leaves in a shape and colour that gave it its name because—if you recalled correctly and you always did—the last recorded specimen was found on the Grecian isle of Kythira five hundred years before and you were wondering how the hell Dracula had found one when Adrian’s words registered. At the same time, a powerful sense of longing practically ploughed through your gut and into your chest. When you looked up at him, somewhat stunned, he simply looked at you through his lashes. The children, you thought. He hadn’t said his children. Of course there was a pond right there less than three feet away. Then again, he might have meant it figuratively, as in you would be the kind of mother who would insist on lessons being taken seriously. Which you would be, of course. If you lived to have any.

Your heart beat faster within your chest. As far as Adrian knew, you were leaving in slightly over three weeks. You couldn’t stay. Couldn’t you? Was he asking you to stay? Was this his way of raising the subject? Your heart sped up some more as twin feelings of longing and dread clashed like titans inside you. This was the last thing you needed; you already had Godfrey to deal with. But for one moment, fleeting yet burning bright like a falling star, you saw it. Adrian with your children, the children you could have had together, a little boy whose hair and eye colour mirrored yours and a girl with hair as golden as his and eyes as blue as Lisa’s. It was—Your breath caught slightly. It was…rather wonderful, actually. 

His thumb ran gently over your knuckles and you wondered how much of what you had imagined he could sense. Clearing your throat slightly, you smiled. “I haven’t really given children much thought but if that did happen, I wouldn’t bother fishing them out. Hiding in the cold water can be their penance. I’ll just sit somewhere with a glass of wine and wait until they can’t take it anymore.”

He laughed, pulled you closer, dropped a soft kiss against your temple which you returned and then there was no more talk of children or even any other hint that he might ask you to stay. But the thought had been planted and you couldn’t help but feel a wistful tug now and then, which surprised you because you had been truthful about not thinking about children beyond the fact that you were expected to have them. Yours wasn’t the kind of life you actually wanted for a child, although you would have little say in the matter once you were married. And if Adrian felt any of the emotions that you were constantly having to keep in check, he gave no indication. 

All this while, the sun was going down, following its arc below the horizon. Your time was almost up.

“Adrian?” You were returning to what you had come to think of as his wing of the castle. “I’m going out for a walk.” You felt a quick flare of what felt like anxiety and unhappiness. He looked out at the low hanging rich red orb which was practically kissing the line where the forest met the sky. “I can take care of myself. And it’ll be a quick one.” All of which was entirely true. “I just need a bit of space to think through some things.” There was nothing coincidental about your choice of words. 

He wanted to say more but clearly thought the better of it and decided to hold his peace. Instead, he asked you what you wanted for dinner. You walked him to the kitchen, kissed him goodbye. You then went to fetch your sword from the bedroom, dug into your pack for the leather bracers you hadn’t worn since moving into the castle, the throwing knives you had stowed away. You stopped by the study to ensure that everything was on the table and in order. When the castle doors opened for you and closed behind, you brushed your fingertips against the cool strange metal and felt the warm hum of magic. “Thank you, Adrian,” you whispered. The words you really wanted to say remained unspoken. 

As you had expected, there was a very long chain made up of multiple ones securely nailed to the opening of the ground leading into the Hold. You slid down that, feeling a sense of extraordinary calm slipping over you like a mantle. It was a familiar feeling and a welcomed one. Adrian had placed wards on the Hold entrance but clearly Godfrey had undone them without him realising it. That fucking bastard was slightly more than three hundred years old after all and knew a fucking lot, unfortunately. You had every intention of killing him yourself or wounding him so badly that when Adrian did show up, Godfrey would not be a threat. 

At the entrance of the Hold, you could see torches burning. Godfrey had lit the place entirely and he was there, standing in the centre next to the lectern. He still wore his cloak, sans hood, and at this distance, you could see his inhuman good looks. Even without the vampiric influence, he would have been stunning. And he had been an excellent hunter, one of the best, and the absolute apple of his parents’ eye. Which was why his betrayal caught everyone off-guard. You watched him watching you as you descended the long stairs, saw his eyes widen as he caught sight of that scarlet purple mark on your neck. “So, now you know,” he said. It ought to have been impossible to hear him at that distance, but you could. “Now you know what it feels like to be bonded to the one you love, though you cannot imagine what it is to have that ripped away forever.”

You waited until you reached the last step, until you too were at the centre of the Hold. Then you replied. “I do. I understand why you’ve hunted us all these years.” And it was the truth, terrible, awful and ugly. Hating Godfrey had become something natural, you had done it for so long. But now you knew him, just as he knew you in a way the rest of the Clan never would.

Crimson eyes turned luminous. “Then let this not end in death. Join me.” He held out his clawed hand to you. The dark cloak he wore flared on an invisible wind you could not feel. “You can be together with that half-vampire, never to grow old, never to taste the slow decay of time. I swear I won’t hurt you or harm a single hair on his head.” You looked at Godfrey, really looked at him then and amidst the madness, saw a vast aching loneliness. For all that he was a vampire, there was a part of him that was still a Morris and like all of you, the Clan— _family_ —was everything. “Join me. We share blood, you and I, and we understand each other as no other can possibly understand us.” 

You thought of everything Adrian had told you about the bond, everything you knew now. The mark on your neck throbbed. You thought about Godfrey’s offer.


	20. Gryphon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, the chapter's out and ready. So have at it guys. I took the liberty of including some elements from the game and if there are any mistakes, please be gentle because I did do my homework (and tried my best!). However, as is typical, I put some of my own spin on these and made up a couple of things as well. Some references to ASOIAF and Avengers Infinity War for this chapter. Also, this chapter ties up a couple of things I planted in earlier chapters too. I hope you enjoy it, and last but not least, thanks so much for the comments, kudos and bookmarks!  
> ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Words though, could be wind. In this case, they had to be. Godfrey’s were dangerous, powerfully seductive, sweet as poison bloom flowers but deadly. Who didn’t want to stay young? Or be free of the yoke that was time? But at what price? The sight of your ancestor and the thing he had become frightened you. You could not say for certain you would never be like him. You thought of Lisa Tepes, who had chosen mortality because there was no way that Dracula would not have offered to turn her. Neither had he forced her. You thought about them, stood your ground and like a hurricane, however powerful, the siren call of Godfrey’s offer passed, as all things must. 

He saw it on your face, your refusal. Arrogance and desperation melded into fury. “Why not?” He did not scream or yell. He spoke with a calmness that only the truly insane could muster. You wondered if he could even see the compassion you knew was on your face; you couldn’t hide that. A priest or scholar might have quoted that perennial saying, “There but for the grace of God go I.” All you knew was that you were fucking lucky that you weren’t him. Betrayed by blood kin, warped by years of grief and despair, driven mad by a longing that death could not kill, separated by death which could not be breached because like all vampires, he feared it too much. A husk and a shadow of the man—no, the person he had once been. All because he had loved the wrong woman. Or because she had fallen in love with the wrong man. You saw him and you couldn’t help but see yourself and Adrian, the possibility of what might be. History repeating itself. You were not going to let that happen. 

“It’s the forbidden fruit you are offering. This is something that cannot be undone. And it destroys.”

A long, clawed finger stabbed at you. Or more precisely, the bite mark on your neck. “So does that,” he enunciated slowly. His smile was full of teeth. “That is not something you can walk away from. Or did Adrian,” he bit out mockingly, “not fully explain the ramifications of such an act to you?”

“He did.” If only a few hours before. But even that morning, in those velvet dawn hours he had told you as best he could, given the fact that he had been almost feral with desire. And you, you hadn’t been thinking either. If there was to be blame involved, you both would share it equally. “But it’s not the same as turning—”

The clashing of fang against fang stopped you short. “It was not the turning that was to blame.” Godfrey’s tones were hushed but he was practically spitting vitriol, features contorted. “It was the Clan! My own father, my brothers…”

According to family records, you were a direct descendent of Remy, the one closest to Godfrey who had struck the killing blow. But there were many, many branches of the Morris Clan, despite Godfrey’s savage pruning of the family tree. You just hoped he had lost track of who had begotten whom. After all, it had been three hundred years. 

“It was Remy who I believed when he said the family would make peace with us, my closest friend and brother, whose blood runs thickest in your veins.”

Okay, Godfrey knew. Of fucking course he would. Revenge after all, made a person obsessive and an immortal vampire had all the time in the world to keep track of the family genealogy. You weren’t so much bothered by that though; it was something that he said which puzzled you. “Remy contacted you? Didn’t they—”

Godfrey’s face settled in a mask of calm with unnerving speed. “Ah, yes. I have heard this story many times from your predecessors whom I made an offer to as well, though none had the incentive to accept as you have. But it always entertains, so please, do go on.” Mockery dripped from each word. 

You were not some talking parrot or dancing bear and you would be damned if you were going to amuse him this way. “So if they didn’t track you down and kill her, what happened then?”

A faraway look stole over his face, lingering, warming it briefly. “They would never have found us, me and Lilith, not in a million years. We were living in the mountains, by rivers. We travelled to all the lands we talked about, stayed at cities that still stand and some whose greatness the likes of which can never be found again.”

You thought it wise not to interject that everywhere they went, dead bodies followed. At least that’s what you had been told. Now, you weren’t entirely sure. But at least the part about them being constantly on the move was true; it was a testament to the zeal with which they had been hunted. Lionel had been so sure his beloved son had been ensorcelled.

“But then there was that letter from him. It was there even before we arrived. He knew I would go to that inn, he knew I would want to travel that land. That was how close we were, Remy and I. You would know if—oh, I forgot. You did have siblings. Once.”

Any compassion you felt for him curled up like paper thrust into fire. “I did.” You sounded almost gentle. But you did not reach for your blade. You didn’t because he was expecting you to. Besides, you had other weapons at your disposal. “Just as you had a vampire lover, once. Except that you led her to her death. You should have known better.”

The edges of that dark cloak flared and within their glass cages, the flames flickered as one, casting moving shadows over the entire place. It was a warning. That wasn’t enough to stop you. 

“But you’re a Morris, through and through. And you wanted family, you missed it. She must have tried to persuade you otherwise. I cannot imagine her being that foolish or naïve.”

Godfrey moved along the crest on the floor, prowling and you stepped clock-wise too, maintaining the same distance, keeping the lectern between him and you. This time, your hand moved to the hilt of your sword. Adrenaline sparked, fierce, heady, almost burying fear. You wondered if Adrian would feel it from this distance. 

“How you must have begged, persuaded, cajoled. How she must have loved you to have agreed, and worried for you such that she risked her own neck, literally, by following you.” 

Godfrey was this close to lunging at you. Remy’s sword had almost severed Lilith’s neck from her shoulders. Through the air, you could feel the heat of his hatred, his misery. God but you were cruel because it felt so good; hurting him made the pain of losing your siblings disappear. The darkness in you understood his too well. “You killed her because you didn’t know your father and brothers well enough. The Clan sticks together but family is expected to uphold duty, and therefore bring honour. Why didn’t you protect her better?”

The sound of your blade emerging from its sheath was a slow bright whisper. Despite the orange hues of the fires, it shone like the snow with a sheen of its own. Godfrey simply continued circling towards you. He never blinked, not even once. You on the other hand, already had the layout of the place memorised. Without looking, you knew precisely what was behind you. 

“Let me put an end to it, the guilt, the misery, the pain. The loneliness, for that is the worst of all. It never goes away, not even when you sleep. And you did try, didn’t you? For the first fifty years you left us alone, trying to numb your agony but the nightmares followed you into the coffin.” That wasn’t a confirmed fact but something you had pieced together while getting your hands on every single scrap of information you could collect about Godfrey over the years. You were mortal, but revenge too had made you obsessive. 

For a moment, he hesitated and you knew your words had struck home, touched a chord in him. “Let me finish it.”

His head bowed, his shoulders drooped. You had him. Victory, hard and gleaming, heady and ruthless, rushed through your bones. You took two steps forward. Then Godfrey lifted his chin. Eyes peered at you from beneath that thick fringe. Blue eyes, not red. You froze. Lilith’s eyes had been blue. “No,” he said almost gently, the words rolling from his mouth in softer cadences. For one moment you heard a woman’s voice underlying his and all the hairs on your arms and neck prickled painfully. “The only one dying here today will be you.” He blinked and the blue faded, red filling up his irises once more. 

He moved almost too quickly for your eye to follow. What you remembered most was the sword which was suddenly in his hand, its sides burning bright against a centre so dark it was like looking into a void. When he swung it, dark light arced, generating a rush of wind so powerful it would have knocked you off your feet if not for the counter-blast from your own blade as you parried to meet his strike. Blue runes engraved in the demonic-looking blade glared at you like livid eyes. The blinding shine from yours didn’t affect Godfrey in the slightest, apart from stoking his rage further. 

“Remy’s sword. If not for that blessed wind, I wouldn’t have recognised it.”

Enchanted metal screamed as blade slid against blade, spilling shadows and light. “It was remade.” You twisted, shifting to the side and shoving hard, abruptly so that Godfrey’s weight pushed him forward, spun away with a slash that missed, though the arc of wind tore at his cloak and shoved him further back. The shelves behind him shuddered; books fell. When this was over, the entire Hold might in ruins. If Godfrey did not kill you, Trevor might. 

With breathtaking fluidity Godfrey righted himself, turning, sent a pulsating blast of energy from that dark blade which you avoided by ducking behind a bookcase. Wood hundreds of years old and treated to resist age, damp and mould, wood that was strong enough to bear the weight of roughly seven hundred books in total, shattered instantly, cracks whipping through it as the shelves began collapsing. Fuck. That unholy weapon, wherever he had conjured it from, was bloody powerful. 

A shadow fell. Godfrey was above, airborne, and you knew that whatever the magical properties of your own weapon, you could never block such a strike. But when it came to fighting vampires, brute strength had never been a strategy. It all boiled down to speed. And nerves. He took forever to get within arm’s length; he took less than half a heartbeat. You slashed the air, the white edge of the Valmanway blurred and a fence of flashing swords burst into being. Illusions, mirages. And it was enough to confuse the vampire. A moment was not sufficient to kill him. It was enough though. You lunged upward; his blade passed over your head so closely you felt it breath on you. Then you struck, your sword licking out, a ribbon of light which bit into his side. Blood spilled. And you were off and running for the shelter of the arched alcoves, the rumble of Godfrey’s angry roar following you. 

It was the best place to fight him. If you stayed out in the open, he could come at you through the air; there was simply too much to keep an eye on. In the alcoves, there were walls on three sides, two levels of railings and more bookcases. These would provide cover and enough space to move around in. It would be easier to predict his attacks. 

You nearly made it. A tell-tale sharp crack split the air, whistling in too fast to be avoided. You had three choices: keep running and be struck in the back, catch the whip with your blade and lose it, or let your left forearm take the blow. The last choice was the one you took. Only you hadn’t reckoned that Godfrey’s whip was embedded with spikes which crunched through the leather and bit into your flesh. If not for the bracer, it might have gone down to the bone. Magic sizzled and your blood steamed. ‘I fucking hate whips,’ was your last thought before Godfrey took to the air, pulling you along with him. 

The ground fell away with dizzying speed. At the corner of your eye, you heard a loud explosion. Crimson flared with all the brightness of a falling meteor and in that light, you saw the shapes of runes twisting and turning. Godfrey had warded up the entrance to the Hold. And though you couldn’t see him, Adrian was here.

“Just in time,” Godfrey crowed spitefully. “I thought about cutting your head off but I already did that to your brother and sister. This time I’ll leave your parents a present of a different kind. Your broken body dropped from the ceiling of the Belmont Hold. Your lover can be the first to see it!” 

By now, you were high enough in the air to break bones if you fell. Since Godfrey intended for you to die from a height, you might as well oblige him. The Valmanway fell on the whip. Enchanted leather resisted, gave a scream of its own. The feverish glee on the ancient vampire’s face dropped as he yanked the whip hard to the side, then cracked it, making it dance, keeping it away from your sword. So you simply transferred your attention to him. Wind slashed through the air. Godfrey returned the blow with a strike of his own, both blasts meeting in the middle, swelling as they clashed before exploding, blowing both of you apart, the whip stretched tight.

Like some mad puppeteer with a marionette, he dragged you through the air as your blades flashed, wind tearing the air in the Hold apart, the explosions causing the bookcases to shiver, books cascading from the shelves. You shoulder felt like it was about to slip out of its socket. But you gritted your teeth. Godfrey couldn’t simply fly you up and drop you. That didn’t mean that both of you weren’t climbing progressively higher into the air. The lectern on the ground floor was alarmingly small and on either side, the first two bridges across the second floor had already passed you by. One of them was much closer though. 

So you aimed a strike at Godfrey’s left, wide enough so that he didn’t have to use his blade but close enough that he was forced to dart to the right. That meant you followed suit. Beneath you, the bridge passed. Now. Your intent burned bright, firing up the sword in your hand which responded to your will. Razor bright, it arced down on the whip. Leather split. You fell through the air, stomach clenching at the sensation. And landed on the bridge, your bones screaming but unbroken by the jarring force. 

At the entrance of the Hold, something akin to the sound of shattering crystals and glass filled the air. Sparing a glance to the side, you saw Adrian, dark coat and golden hair blown back by a magical wind, that elegant deadly sword in his hands striking specific runes that darted about like live things trying desperately to evade him. Bloody hell. That wasn’t just any ward; Godfrey had conjured a fucking Etruscan Ward Wall. Then you looked back to see him rushing you. There was nothing to do but brace for his attack. 

In your hand, the Valmanway was a singing wind, the wings of a storm. It met the dark sword blow for blow, parrying every strike, light as a feather, impenetrable as a shield wall. The swords kissed again and again, sparks flying. They made the chains holding up the bridge sway, drawing a soft song from ancient wood and metal that you and Godfrey drowned as you fought. 

You were going to lose. If not for the family heirloom that you had spent three years tracking down, you would have been dead countless times over. But as fast as it was, as swift as it made you, its magic running warm through your skin, it couldn’t pierce Godfrey’s defences and he was slowly but surely driving you back. And you were mortal; you would tire much sooner than he would. 

Now you understood why so many of you had died at his hand. It was a fucking miracle and a testament to your parents’ skill and their weapons that they had survived. 

“You can’t best me.” 

You couldn’t reply because you had to focus on stopping every blow coming your way. Chunks of wood fell through the air, innocent casualties of the struggle for survival and dominance. You couldn’t even look when showers of dust began streaming down from the high ceiling above; the foundation of the Hold were starting to shake. Where the entrance lay, beams the colour of blood rubies began spirally wildly. 

Godfrey lunged, you blocked, he whirled back, struck again and this time you were too slow. Any slower and he would have taken your arm off at the shoulder. Pain seared through your flesh, a burning brand that spread, forcing the air from your lungs as you fought a scream. You went down on one knee, blade still up, your hands around the hilt in a death grip. 

“You smell even sweeter than I thought you would,” he hissed, bearing down on you. Bloodlust contorted his face, twisted it to reveal the monster beneath.

The blast from the exploding ward knocked both of you off your feet. You fell, rolled, felt your foot slide over the bridge and slammed the sword down through the floor, your fingers digging at it instinctively to stop yourself from slipping over the edge. ‘Godfrey.’ Already on his feet, he looked at you. 

That was all he could do. Adrian’s sword sheared through the air, a slashing beam of white. Godfrey cursed, steel ringing on steel as the swords clashed with breathtaking speed. He shoved the flying blade away, a ring of dark energy pulsating out to blast it even further back. And couldn’t react in time as Adrian crashed right through the bridge, tearing the wood apart, grabbing Godfrey’s sword hand so that he couldn’t strike, driving him backwards at full speed as they struck each other. Snarls and growls split the air along with the sound of their colliding fists. 

When they crashed into the huge hanging bones of the white dragon, the chains gave. The Hold shuddered, dust and soil spilling like clouds into the air; metal screamed as it was ripped from solid stone and the gigantic fossil collapsed, taking both of them down with it. 

Those bones were sharp enough to skewer a vampire. “Fuck,” you hissed, dragging yourself up and running towards them. The bones shuddered. Then exploded, scattering wildly as Godfrey and Adrian emerged in a wild cloud of swirling black capes and cloaks and claws. The dark blade swooped in, slashed a thick line of red which stretched from your lover’s neck to his navel. If Adrian had been any slower, he would have been eviscerated. The only reason why you didn’t scream was because you had been trained not to. 

Adrian glowed red. And in the sliver of a second that Godfrey’s strike left him open, he moved, landing a vicious punch that should have shattered any being’s ribs and spine—vampire or otherwise—and driven their bones out their back. Godfrey flew through the air. Adrian’s blade came darting in, a silver streak of light. 

By all rights, it ought to have skewered him. Instead, it missed because Godfrey twisted in mid-air with a supple grace that was amazing even for a vampire. What the sword pierced instead was his black cloak, tearing a long shred free before it returned to Adrian’s hand. “The famous Alucard of Wallachia.” Godfrey clutched at his ribs. Despite that, he grinned. “Your reputation precedes you, son of Dracula. And I confess, I am impressed. Not everyone knows what an Etruscan Ward Wall is, let alone how to unlock one. I didn’t expect you to smash through it, given that the chance of success is one in forty thousand. You might have brought the whole place down for miles.” Lifting his hand, he wiped at the blood splattered over his cheek, then licked his fingers clean. He grimaced. “But in this you disappoint. You certainly don’t taste like a human. Or even an animal.” 

That had been Adrian’s blood. The edges of your vision burned red. Then Godfrey turned his attention to you. “But there’s still you. What a tasty snack you would make. Maybe I won’t kill you, not immediately. It’s been a while since I’ve had a human pet.”

Adrian’s rage was an icy blast in your bones, wild enough to fill the Hold. It almost smothered your ability to think. “You’ll be dead before you manage that.”

Godfrey chuckled. “Oh I like you. You’re more fun than your father ever was. Now, he nearly killed me. But that’s a story for another time.” He turned back to you. “If you are so opposed to me turning you, how about letting him do it? He could.”

“Shut the fuck up, Godfrey. And get down here so that I can kill you.”

“I would but I think your sweetheart over there might have a problem with that. As it is, I think you keeping our little deal from him has made him rather upset.”

Oh yes. He was really upset. You knew just how upset because you could feel all of it, just as you knew he could feel your apprehension. Forget Trevor killing you for wrecking the Hold. Adrian might beat him to it. 

“So, which one of you lovebirds wants to try killing me first?”

Adrian moved, rising through the air to meet Godfrey, putting himself between you and the vampire. 

“Don’t, we’ll do it together,” you called out, trying not to sound as desperate as you felt. There was not much you could do if the battle was entirely aerial.

Unsurprisingly, he ignored you. Given your behaviour, you would have ignored you too. Okay then. Time to improvise. Godfrey was too busy watching Adrian to notice you pull free the small silver locket attached to the pommel of your sword, the one your sister had given you. 

“Adrian.”

He didn’t respond. If you really thought this through, you might not do it. So you didn’t think as you vaulted over the railing and into thin air. You fell, back first and were privileged enough to witness a look of astonishment on Godfrey’s face so pure that it was almost comical. You didn’t look at Adrian as he came diving in for you, because immediately after him, like a huge bat right out of hell, flew Godfrey. 

Strong arms grabbed you. Silken hair brushed your cheek. The smell of wine and roses. Adrian’s fear. His wrath. You couldn’t think. Silver flashed in your hand. You hurled the locket at Godfrey and your aim was true. It hit him smack in the chest. “Open sesame,” you whispered. It had been your brother’s idea of a joke when you had been choosing a magical phrase to activate the relic. 

Holy lightning was not like ordinary lightning. And this holy lightning was not like the usual ones unleashed against the undead. You hadn’t been exaggerating when you told Adrian your sister would have been the finest spellcaster the Clan had seen in three generations. While the Belmonts had insisted on steering clear of magic, other branches of your Clan thought otherwise. Your sister had had a gift, one your parents nurtured with as many ancient spell books and magical texts as they could collect. And she hadn’t just memorised spells; she had crafted them.

A lightning storm engulfed the ancient vampire like a net of blinding light and in the jagged white bolts which speared him were white runes. Each one flashed like a sun, intertwined as links in a chain were. They sank themselves into Godfrey, clung to his cloak, drawn to the darkness they had been created to devour. 

He screamed, flailed, crashed to the ground and crushed the lectern in the process. The Index and the wood remained unharmed. The same could not be said for the vampire; the smell of burning flesh and hair filled the air. Staggering to his feet, he slashed at the lightning which hissed and spat as the blade cut through the bolts, only for the severed ends to leap back together and launch themselves at him again. The sound of his howls filled the Hold like the roars of some ancient wounded beast.

In the shadow of the tall stairs, Adrian alighted. “Stay here,” you ordered, staring at bloodied remnants of his shirt. The wound was little more than an angry red impression. But the blood was still wet on his skin and it was smeared on your clothes too. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t let you go. “Adrian, I need to go and stake that fucker. The spell won’t last forever and you can’t go near him or it’ll turn on you too.” 

“I’ll do that.” You turned to see Godfrey, lightning crawling over him like a living thing, burning him alive, Adrian’s sword clashing with his. Slower because he was in agony, he had drawn his dagger and that made up for his loss in speed. No matter how swiftly Adrian’s sword flew, how hard it struck, it could not get past the vampire. Anyone else ought to have been dead ten times over. But not Godfrey. The memory of blue eyes staring at you flashed through your mind.

“Let go of me.” You tried to wrench yourself free only for Adrian’s hands to tighten with near-bruising force on your arms. “Adrian! Let me go _now_. He killed my brother and sister,” you practically snarled. “That’s my blood, my family.”

He returned your glare, beyond furious. But when you pushed yourself free from him, he didn’t stop you. 

Godfrey almost never saw you coming. That didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. While fending off repeated slashes to the head from Adrian’s blade, he drew his dagger on you and nearly put it between your ribs when you spun, twisted and slammed the dagger in your hand though his heart with all your might. For a moment, your faces were so close that he could have bitten you. Then you were shoving him away, his blood steaming on your hand and face as the lightning went wild, gathering in a huge surge that struck him square on the chest where his wound was before splintering into a shower of sparks. 

He fell against a bookcase with so much force that it split down the centre, shaking free a shower of books and items. And with your sword you stabbed him in the left side between the ribs, driving the blade all the way through down to the hilt. He looked at you, blinked long and slow, his face scorched by burn marks, charred flesh running like a web over his neck and hands. Smoke rose from him, coiled like serpents slithering through air. 

Then Adrian was there, pulling you back, pulling you away to what he deemed was a safe distance. Your face stung and so did your hand where the lightning had grazed you but that had little to do with the heat suffusing your skin. Adrenaline, you thought. You couldn’t hear the sound of your own harsh breathing because there was a buzzing in your ears; you could only feel the violent rise and fall of your chest. Adrian’s hand came away from your side, his fingers red. Godfrey had cut you but you couldn’t feel the pain. 

“How did—” The ancient vampire wheezed. 

“How did I know you have two hearts?” you seethed. “Because, you fucking arsehole, your personal insignia was the gryphon and it does indeed have two hearts, that of a lion and an eagle. It was recorded that you took Lilith’s from her chest before fleeing. Most people thought he was just being fanciful when Lionel wrote that it was still beating even after she lost her head. But your father was a man of facts, as evident in the documents he wrote. And everyone just assumed you had gone insane. But you weren’t. And I realised that.” 

“It was the bond.” Godfrey’s hand came up, clutched at your dagger. “It was powerful before she turned me, and after, we sealed it with magic. She too liked gryphons.” Then bloodied fingers wrapped around its hilt. Your eyes widened. Adrian snatched his sword out of the air and shoved you behind him. “Two hearts beating as one. As long as one lived, so would the other. Even after a fatal wound, it would regenerate.” With a sickening wet sound, he pulled the dagger out. It clattered to the floor, smearing dark blood in its wake. “Clever girl you are, the littlest Morris. Brilliant actually. Unfortunately for you,” he yanked out your blade, throwing it well across the room, mouth wreathed in a vicious smile, “her heart’s not in my chest.” 

Fuck. You should have gone for the head. 

“Adrian,” you hissed. Surely he realised now was a good time to attack. Godfrey was alive but staggering and bleeding like a stuck pig. 

“Oh by the way, you do remember that apart from gryphons, I was and still am very fond of poison.” He coughed, pressing a hand to his chest, looking slightly amused by the blood gushing out from the gaping wounds. “I like to put it on all my blades.”

Fucking fuck. Adrian reached behind, grabbed your shirt so tightly that you winced, and began pushing you further back, blade out in front. He never took his eyes from Godfrey.

“If I were you, Alucard, I would rush her back to the castle right now. Rather nasty thing it is, moondragon sap, and even more so when paired with bitter-root.”

You had never even heard of those plants before. Actually, you couldn’t hear much at all because the buzzing in your ears had grown louder. Sweat beaded your upper lip, trickled down your brow. “Kill him first,” you muttered, tugging at Adrian’s wrist. “Cut off his head.”

“She’ll be dead on the ground by the time you manage that.” 

Godfrey sounded as if he were speaking underwater. For one moment the entire room spun. Adrian caught you before you hit the ground. The books and lamp fires merged in a flowing riot of colour, dragged the moon and stars into their bright canvases. Your eyes rolled in your head, you didn’t even feel the cool night air rushing on your skin as Adrian flew both of you back to the safety of the castle. 

By the time he got you into his mother’s infirmary, violent shivers racked your frame. The last thing you remembered was a cool hand on your head and a far-off voice telling you not to die.


	21. Edge of a Knife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, a big thank you to everyone for the comments, kudos, bookmarks and love for that last chapter! ❤️ It was hugely enjoyable but exhausting to write and I'm really glad to know you all had a good time reading it. I'm a little surprised I actually made it for this week's update. It's relatively short in comparison to the others, but I cut it here because structurally, this works better. Just a warning: it is a bit darker and if you are sensitive to mentions of suicide, then you might want to skip this or just go straight to the end.  
> _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

That night itself, you raved and ranted, blind and deaf with a fever that left you soaking in perspiration and trying to tear off your clothes, your fingers digging into your own skin in multiple attempts to peel it off. The next minute you were as cold as ice, shivering and shaking so hard that you could barely unclench your jaws, curled into a tight ball no matter how many layers of blankets Adrian wrapped you in. And immediately after that you were dripping in sweat and pulling off the blankets again. The stitches in your shoulder and side ripped and ripped again. In the end, Adrian had to resort to binding your limbs, tying you down to the bed as you screamed over and over about vampires and werewolves and night creatures that were coming for you and your family. Towards the evening of that day, you spent hours weeping and crying about Adrian, about how you had failed him and he had died at Godfrey’s hands, and how you wished you were dead too. 

On the second day you couldn’t keep anything down. You vomited up all the water and medicine he fed you. Your skin turned translucent before a very unnatural light bluish tinge set in, the veins in your eyes crimson. The tissue around your wounds was rapidly turning a shade of venomous green that was spreading. Tremendous thirst held you in an unceasing grip and you cried for water over and over but each time Adrian gave in, you would regurgitate everything, caught in a vicious cycle meant to weaken your body and ultimately kill you. 

The side of the infirmary where you were being held was spotlessly clean. Despite the mess you made, the sheets you rested on were always fresh, the blankets were warm and your clothes, now that you weren’t reducing them to shreds, changed regularly. Candles were not allowed near you just in case you broke free; he cared for you by the light of an electrical lamp throughout the night and held you when your eyes couldn’t close because of the horrors in your head which were unfolding, horrors he could feel intimately because your emotions were intertwined with his. Unfortunately, nothing he did, no amount of calm or comfort he projected could reach you. You were trapped in your mind and he was utterly helpless. 

On the other side of the infirmary, books littered the floor and beds; it had become a makeshift library of sorts. His parents’ carefully kept medical journals, thick encyclopaedias written by wise men and learned women who had been old while the world was still young, spell books that would have made magicians blanch if they could glimpse its contents, for some things were simply not meant to be known. Every book on herbology which he could find he scoured. There was nothing about moondragon sap, and any information about bitter-root and treating it was useless without knowledge of the former because the vampire had combined the poisons. Godfrey had not been kind or merciful when he revealed what he had poisoned you with. Or, he had been lying. But there was little doubt as to his intentions. He had meant, Adrian realised hours into his search, for exactly this to happen, for soul-crushing despair to set in, for bone-deep frustration that chased him through each hour as he tended to you in between administering medicines that did nothing for your physical pain or psychological torment. Adrian feared you would lose your mind before he could find a cure, that it would be so badly fractured that even if you did survive, you would still be lost to him. 

The table was covered with medical apparatus, glass jars filled with the remnants of failed antidotes, test tubes being slowly heated with new ones, beakers for measuring them out. He had to fight the urge to smash everything because it was now the third day. Dawn had just broken and after a night of begging for water which he would not give and reliving the fight with Godfrey, although somehow in your mind, you had allowed him to turn you and you had spent the better part of an hour asking Adrian to kill you, you were very still. Your eyes were open, but staring blindly at the ceiling and you didn’t even blink when he touched your cheek or held your hand. Neither did you respond when he broke down and buried his face in your shoulder, pleading with you not to die, alternating between that and incandescent rage that you had deceived him, that you had risked yourself, risked everything that you had together with him in an attempt to take on a vampire like Godfrey alone. 

Gently pressing the tip of the scalpel into the blisters that had formed near your stitches, he quickly and deftly drained the dark pus from your wounds, burning the stained cloths in a small fire he kept in the room next door and disinfecting the instruments thoroughly. He was dealing with an unknown agent and he had to be careful; vampires were vulnerable to poison as well and you were suffering from the worst case he had ever seen. There were two likely reasons why you were probably not dead yet: your inherent constitution, which was much more robust than an ordinary person’s and the nature of the poison, because Godfrey liked pain and wanted his victims to suffer as much as possible. 

The fact that you were finally quiet only served to magnify his fears. He could sense your heartbeat slowing down, the strain it bore just to keep you alive. At least wherever you were in your mind, it was somewhere quiet because you weren’t frightened or in throes of some delusion that you were being hurt or that your loved ones were being tormented. Either that, or your mind was finally slipping away, leaving you an empty shell. 

Exhausted but far from giving up, he kissed your hand, combed your hair back with his fingers before returning to his books. Moondragon sap was a ghost in the wind he had long given up chasing. Whatever medicines he had given you had been based on combating your symptoms but so far, they had either proven useless or had only delayed those symptoms before they returned with a vengeance. He needed something stronger, something as potent as what Godfrey had given you. So far, he had increased the dosages of heartsbane, wolfsbane, feverfew, sage, all well-known herbs that were effective at neutralising poisons or reducing their symptoms so that the patient could recover. In fact, he had increased them to a point where such a dosage might have done more harm than good. As any decent physician knew, a cure could be a poison and a poison a cure, most of the time. The amount, the stage of that sickness in a patient, his or her physical resilience and sometimes plain luck, made all the difference. 

There was something he hadn’t tried yet. Something he hadn’t dared to all this while because he had been hoping, he had even prayed, that everything else would work. If he waited any longer, you would most certainly die. If he did this and you died…He clenched his hands into fists. Nails cut into flesh, the pain a welcome but insufficient distraction. There would be no place Godfrey could run to, no stone he could hide under, no distant shore to flee to. He would hunt him down. And when he had neutralised Godfrey as a threat, he would keep him alive so that the vampire would spend each living day wishing for death. And finally, when that wore off, as the thrill of vengeance eventually would, he would decide what to do. After all, he had to learn from his father’s mistakes. There was a limit to how long a suicide note could be. 

The castle was wreathed in shadows. Over every window, dark drapes were drawn. Adrian didn’t bother with the lights; he could see perfectly well in the dark and the darkness was what he wanted now. The curtains were for keeping prying eyes out, although he imagined Godfrey was somewhere recovering from his wounds. A staking such as the one you had given him was not something that a vampire simply bounced back from, even one such as him who had dabbled in magic so deep and ancient that there was barely anything mentioned about it in the books collected and written by Vlad Dracula Tepes. He wondered briefly about the vampire Lilith that you had mentioned, Godfrey’s lover, the one who had remade him. There were others, few in number but they indeed existed, that had been older than his father, though Dracula had reigned supreme amongst his kind. The older the vampire, the more knowledgeable. One had to be, to evade other vampires, to fight against hunters and magicians and anyone who would seek to use a powerful, immortal being. His father had once said the curse of immortality was everything else growing old. Learning was a way of staving that off. He couldn’t have been the only one to have thought so. This Lilith must have been like his father in that aspect. 

The greenhouse, that morning, was literally the only bright spot in the place. Through the glass he saw the sky, suffused with a light pink streaked with blues and golds. On such a morning you had given yourself to him, your trust, a piece of you that could never be taken back and he had given you the same. It felt like another lifetime ago when you had been here with him, when you had held his hand and kissed him and both of you had shared details about your families. And you had lied to him, to his face. And he, like seven kinds of fools, had suspected nothing. You had even used the bond to deceive him, to manipulate him. How much of what you had said and done was real? What was false? When had the deception begun? The only reason why he hadn’t spent hours tearing apart and examining everything you had said and done was because he needed the energy to keep you alive. You were, Adrian thought bitterly, keeping his hands sure and movements steady as he carefully cut a stalk of dragon’s eye from the trellis it twined itself around, a consummate liar. And he loved you with all his heart, loved you despite all that because you were here now in his life, as if you had always been. It was impossible to stop. He would have more luck trying to cut the soul out of his body. If there were a way to transfer the life in his veins into yours, he would have done it already. That was what he had been searching for in those ancient spell tomes. You were everything. It was that simple. 

He held the dragon’s eye in his palm, remembering how you had pointed it out. The flower had but a single deep golden petal that began at the top of the stem, slowly uncoiling itself in lush folds and where it was most broadly spread, there was a slim ebony oval, exactly like a pupil. And that was what gave it its name. Held like this, it did no harm. But consuming a piece as small as half a fingertip could cause paralysis, hallucinations, stop the heart or damage major organs within seconds. When mixed with a laurel leaf, it had neutralised the venom of a chimera. In one patient. All the rest had perished. And that case, skeletal in detail and anecdotal in nature, was recorded right before the plant went extinct. His mother had tried interbreeding it with others but it never worked. And the experiments she had conducted had led her to the conclusion that it was too dangerous to use. 

For one moment, his hand trembled. Gently, Adrian dropped the flower into the small silk pouch he brought. Instinct, most likely informed by the bond, told him that you weren’t going to last the night. Which meant that he had hours to find an amount which wouldn’t kill you and that would cure you, something that had only been done once two centuries before. What he needed, Adrian thought, as he hurried back to the infirmary, was a fucking miracle, something that he had yet to encounter in a life blighted by tragedy and loss.

Dawn slipped into morning. Morning shifted into noon. Noon was midway through its transformation into evening when finally… Pouring the thin golden concoction that was flecked with green into a small bowl, he approached your bed. Setting it on the small side table, he eased you up on a pile of pillows so that you were sufficiently upright. He tried not to look at his reflection in your unblinking eyes, perfect blank mirrors that captured every detail, all his fears because if he looked too long, desperate courage would fail him. It took two tries before he managed to scoop a level amount into a small spoon. Using his thumb to part your lips and teeth, he slipped it in and trickled the mixture into your mouth. Then he tilted your head up, massaging your throat to make you swallow. You were as pliant as a doll, placid, all your fires drowned and if he thought too much about that, even the act of breathing would hurt. For all that the world remained the same, if you were gone, it would become strange, foreign. Wrong. 

Your mouth glinted in the cold light of the lamp, wet with the medicine. He lifted his hand, intent on wiping your lips dry with a cloth. Then he dropped it, pressed his hand instead to your face to warm your much too cool cheek. With the other he touched your throat, circling the bruise beneath your jawline which was now dressed in gentler shades of soft reds and purples. And he kissed you, full on the mouth and hard, tongue sweeping in, scraping thoroughly over yours, tasting the sharp bitterness of the potion. Withdrawing, he swallowed and realised that there was a mild heat travelling down his throat. Laying himself next to you, he pulled you into his arms, kissed you once more, laced his fingers together with yours, pressing both hands over your heart. “Come back to me, sweetheart.” It was hard to get the words out; he was suffocating in tears he could not shed. “Come back or take me with you. But don’t leave me alone.”

Hours passed, each minute a lifetime as he waited on the edge of a knife. Yet somehow, Adrian knew he had fallen asleep. He just didn’t know if he was awake the first time you blinked. It might have been a dream, fevered desperate wishes taking the form of an illusion as sweet as a flower with a concealed serpent beneath waiting to sink in its fangs when cruel reality struck. Then you did it again, slow and languorous, almost like a cat. He sat up, bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, sharp pain signalling that this was in fact real. Your eyes were as blank as ever but no longer bloodshot. When he ran his hands over you, you were marginally warmer. And he didn’t have to strain to hear you breathing. 

Apparently, for once, you had actually listened to him. And so had God. “Thank you,” he whispered, the words trembling beneath the weight of new-born hope and tears that would no longer be held back. Overwhelmed, he was not quite sure whom he was addressing. “Thank you.”


	22. Cruel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, the chapter wrote itself so I'm gonna post it. Thanks so much for the comments, kudos and bookmarks for the last chapter despite it being of a sensitive nature. I'm really glad to know I still have support for this. As I was editing this chapter I was like where did my fluff-lite fix-it-fic go? But I think the story, if I dare say so myself, has become more interesting, from a writing perspective as well. So have at it guys! And have faith. There's light at the end of the tunnel. As always, I hope you enjoy it and please, please let me know what you think of this one.   
> _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You had been very much mistaken when, days after the fight with Godfrey, you had regained your senses and thought that everything was all right. Your eyes had opened to an unfamiliar room, sore, with your lids feeling as if they had been weighed down with stones. Your throat was parched and it took an effort to prise your tongue from the roof of your mouth. But your lips weren’t cracked; you could smell the soft sweetness of violet oil. And then Adrian was there, next to you, the bed dipping beneath his weight, his hands framing your face. In the light of the lamps, his eyes shone. “Sweetheart?”

Instead of saying his name, you coughed. Long and copiously. A few sips of water solved that and though you wanted more, Adrian took the cup away. “Not too much, not for now.”

“Thank you. How long?” you croaked, feeling much too weak to even touch him although you very much wanted to. Instead your hands stayed neatly folded on your chest, weighted down by the soft blanket tucked up around your shoulders and neck. 

He knew what you meant: how long since Godfrey had poisoned you. “Five days.” It might have been a trick of the light or more likely it had been your tired eyes—at least that was what you had thought at that time. Adrian’s face had changed, the bones somehow more prominent, stretched beneath porcelain skin, the lines of his mouth winter harsh. Then the moment passed and when next you blinked, he looked completely fine. One hand cupped your cheek, fingers delving into your hair. The other hand he rested on top of your blanket-clad ones. “The poison attacked your mind. I need you to answer some questions.”

“Mmmhm.” You snuggled against the cool warmth of his palm. The fingers in your hair flexed and curled. Any tighter and it would hurt. 

“What’s my name?”

“Adrian Tepes. Alucard.”

“What’s your name?”

You mumbled it out to his satisfaction. He quizzed you on what year it was, the date of your birth, other details you couldn’t quite remember replying to because you were warm and safe and breathing in his scent. At some point you fell asleep and the last thing you recalled was the tender brush of Adrian’s mouth on yours. “Rest well,” he had whispered. Mostly you slept. When you woke up, Adrian would feed you soup, help you drink some water. Sometimes, when slumber lay lightly on your bones and you drifted in that space between the waking world and dreams, you grew aware that he was lying next to you on the bed, that gentle rumbling from his chest like a soft warm light, a shield against unrestful dreams you could feel lingering at the edges of your mind. 

When you got better, you slept less but were still too weak to get up. It was embarrassing and vaguely humiliating when Adrian continued to feed you because you were incapable of lifting even a damned fork or spoon. But you didn’t complain because he never complained. You watched him at the far end of what you learned was his mother’s infirmary, bright golden petals of dragon’s eye flowers staring back at you as he adjusted the dosage of the medicine that you had to consume twice a day. It had been a long, long time since you had felt so helpless. The silk threads in your shoulder and side had to be daubed with a paste of calendula and neem, then covered up again to prevent infection. He was extraordinarily careful when he bathed you in a large copper tub he placed a room next to this one. He even washed your hair, towelling it dry despite your protests. “You will not catch a chill,” he said very firmly and proceeded to ignore you. 

None of that had bothered you. Initially. Neither were you ungrateful; you knew you would have died if not for him. You had thanked him repeatedly. It was just that you were well enough to feed yourself now. You were stronger too; you slept more normal hours—as opposed to half the day—and strength was rapidly returning to your limbs. But he would not permit you to do more than take a few steps from the bed, insisting that you had to rest. He also still persisted in feeding you, which you found very odd but weren’t going to pursue because you were trying to figure out how to apologise to him and explain why you had gone around his back. Basically, you knew you had to grovel but you had never grovelled in your life and rarely ever apologised. It was probably some genetic defect that ran in your family line; whenever you and your cousins had some kind of fight, verbal or otherwise, you would individually sulk for a few hours or days, depending on how bad it had been. When you came back, no one gave anyone a hard time and the incident was promptly forgotten. There had hardly been any apologies, except for two memorable occasions: when you had broken Raynard’s leg by accident and when Trevor had fucked William’s fiancé because he had no idea who she was, only that she was coming onto him. But that hadn’t been so much resolved by an apology as it had a drunken threesome that none of you younger ones were ever going to mention to your elders, especially since William and Clarissa were presently very happily married. 

But Adrian was not your hot-headed family and you didn’t share that common language. And, you reminded yourself as you picked nervously at a loose thread on the blanket, what you had done was distinctly worse than the Raynard accident or the Trevor-Clarissa debacle. You had essentially lied a lot without actually having lied. And now you had to apologise, something you hadn’t really put much thought into because mostly you had reckoned you wouldn’t have to do it on account of being dead. Also, at the back of your mind, a very large part of you felt that it was right that you had kept Adrian out of it. The memory of Godfrey nearly slicing him open was probably going to haunt you for the rest of your life. Godfrey, who was almost as fast as Adrian but a lot more experienced with an endurance that you had not imagined possible. Your eyes narrowed, the echo of Lilith’s dulcet tones blending with Godfrey’s deeper ones sounding in your ears. Whatever magic had been involved in the binding of their hearts through the bond, it was probably not human in nature. 

Could it be possible? You frowned, sitting up, pushing the blankets off your knees. After centuries of being bound together, could it be possible that aspects of Lilith, the essence of her which was locked within her heart, had filtered into him? Her hatred and his hatred, a shared thirst for revenge, her powers and his. Their love. The stone floor was cool beneath the soles of your feet. A heart was more than a biological organ; some philosophers claimed it and the brain formed the seat of the soul, which in turn birthed the mind. Shaking your head, you got up. This was not the time for pondering the mysteries of life or the unnatural bond between two vampires. You would find a way to deal with that later. Right now, before your pride got the better of your conscience, you would apologise to Adrian. And since he was not in the room—he must have left while you were napping—it was also a chance to stretch your legs. 

Even if it meant wearing this frilly hideous night gown that he had conjured from the depths of some wardrobe. Why it had such a low neckline was beyond your understanding. Even Adrian could not look attractive in—You thought about it for a moment before deciding that only Adrian could look remotely appealing in this stupid outfit. Everyone else would just look like a fool. You had asked for your regular clothes but he had vaguely brushed you off by saying your shirt was ruined and your pants and boots needed to be cleaned. Still, it didn’t matter. The walk would do you good and though you estimated it would be a week or slightly more before the stitches came out and you could pick up your sword again, you were keen to find out your limitations; it would let you know how long you needed before you could go after Godfrey once more because you were certain that the bastard was still hanging around the area. Now that he knew that you knew his secret, you had to die. Similarly, now that you knew his secret, you were more hellbent than ever on killing him. 

Your step was steady, your vision didn’t suddenly fracture into clouds of buzzing black dots that signalled an impending loss of consciousness. Neither did your sutured wounds hurt, much. As you passed the table, you looked at the small glass vials which held your medicine. It was made of dragon’s tongue, that much was obvious. But Adrian wouldn’t tell you anything else. He hadn’t even said much about what had happened after you had fainted, despite you asking twice. 

Maybe he just wasn’t ready to talk. Before you could stop it, a sigh escaped you, heavy and troubled. Neither were you but now that you were better, a small niggling feeling had grown steadily with each passing day. Something wasn’t right and something had to be done about it. Your hand rested on the ornate door handle, shaped like a dragon climbing the skies, the lever an elegant outstretched wing. Though he was gone, traces of Dracula remained even in the tiniest details like this, for the Romanian word for dragon was ‘dracul’. It also meant devil. Lisa Tepes probably didn’t think of her husband like that, though she must have known what he was capable of if pushed to his limits. You pressed down on the wing, fully expecting to feel the tumblers within the mechanism give so that the door could swing open and you could go out.

That did not happen. Blinking in surprise, you tried again. Maybe you hadn’t pushed hard enough. Maybe the tumblers were just stiff. By your third try, it was impossible to deny that the door was locked. For several long moments you just stared at the dragon whose bold brass eyes gleamed back at you. “Fuck,” you whispered, the soft hiss of your voice a sharp contrast to the anger massing in your chest, thunderous as storm clouds. You tightened your hand around the wing until your knuckles turned white. When you finally let go, your palm was red, your flesh indented with the beautiful scales and sharp edges of the lever. Folding your arms over your chest was a reflexive action because actually, you didn’t know what to do apart from trying to process your shock and growing rage. Adrian had locked you in. He had actually locked you in a room. As if you were a child. Or a prisoner. 

You looked around the room and it was with new eyes that you saw everything. The fact that there were no windows, which you had always thought coincidental, and maybe it still was. But your lack of proper clothes, the absence of your weapons, the fact that you had not been allowed to go anywhere or do anything on your own, all of the explanations that you had supplied and which had seemed like common sense at that time, all of that just imploded like so much dust in the wind and you were left standing on the precipice of a new understanding that was dawning, one which left you chilled and with a dark pit yawning open and low in your belly. 

Tears stung your eyes. And for one brief moment, you actually did feel dizzy. Quickly, you went back to the bed, pulling the blanket up over you although you weren’t cold. Adrian had locked you in. And you knew exactly why he had done it. It didn’t make you any less angry. Ironically, the last time you had been locked up anywhere against your will was the Manor, which was practically right next to the castle you were presently locked in and for practically the same reason: Godfrey. History was a bitch with a tendency to repeat itself. If you weren’t so furious, you might have laughed. 

Thankfully, Adrian didn’t return anytime soon and you suspected it was because he knew that you had found out; with the bond, there was hardly a chance of him not feeling the fiery blast of your temper and putting two and two together. Falling back on breathing techniques, you managed to maintain some semblance of calm while forcing yourself to analyse the situation from an impersonal perspective. It was exactly the same as being trapped in some labyrinth with a flesh-eating minotaur, or falling two floors down into the pit of a dungeon of some long-ago forsaken castle that the minor lord had not seen fit to tear down until night creatures took up residence and began eating the local population, the surviving portion of which was threatening to riot. You were in a situation, to put it mildly, and you needed to think strategically to get yourself out of this mess. 

Unfortunately, the old and cliched adage of love being blind was proving itself to be true. You loved Adrian and it was getting in the way by inflating your sense of righteous fury—how could he betray your trust—and because it fucking hurt so much that you couldn’t really think straight. Each time you thought of something that might help and imagined how that would play out, it inevitably ended with you literally in tears because all you wanted to do was explode at him, strategic thinking and calm finesse be damned. 

You were wiping your cheeks with your sleeve when the door unlocked and in stepped Adrian. You could hardly disguise the fact that you had been crying, so instead you opted not to look at him. After all, it was best not to talk or say anything especially when one was in a simmering rage. That was what your father had always advocated; he was one of those rare Morrises with a calmer disposition. Unfortunately, the apple that you were had fallen much closer to your mother’s side of the tree, your mother who was a Morris through and through not in blood but in spirit. “What the fuck do you mean by locking me in?” You turned to face him, practically growling out that question.

He was carrying a food tray. It occurred to you then that you had no idea whether it was lunch or dinner. He was also acting as if you had never spoken. Taking one glass vial from the table, he placed that carefully on the tray, brought your food over and proceeded to pick up a knife and fork. There was a whole succulent steaming trout, soaked in a delicious-smelling sauce of herbs, garlic, ginger and you caught a faint whiff of wine. 

“I am not eating,” you bit out, enunciating each word. “Not until you explain why. And if I do eat, I’ll feed myself.” Somewhere inside was a small voice begging you not to say anything anymore, that this was not the right way to go about it. You took that voice and shoved it down the darkest mental basement you could conjure. 

Adrian’s face remained a mask of implacable calm. His hands on the utensils though, twitched. And that was when you realised you couldn’t quite sense anything from him through the bond. There was just a …wall. Your breath caught. He had somehow managed to cut himself off from you. You had been so caught up in your own anger that you hadn’t sensed it. Until now. Hurt flashed over your face before you could stop it. It was tangible in the sharp inhale you made.

And a trickle of something came through the bond, right at that moment. Satisfaction. It blew in, a cold breath out of the heart of winter that stole its way into your chest and buried itself like a shard in there. You paled. He was happy that you were hurt. 

“I suppose,” he said, his voice smooth as glass, dark but somehow brittle, “there are other ways of sharing feelings. Now you know how I feel.” The knife scraped against the fork; he began cutting the trout. “Do I really have to explain myself? Are you truly as obtuse as that?”

Your lip curled, eyes narrowing. “You’re punishing me. But—”

With one vicious slice he separated one side of the fish from its spine. “I’m not punishing you. I’m merely paying you back in kind.” Turning the fish over, he proceeded to rip flesh from bone. “You locked me in a cage of ignorance. You told me nothing about Godfrey.”

“I didn’t tell you about him to keep you safe.”

He stared at the knife in his hands. Deftly, he picked the skeleton of the fish up and placed it, the head still attached, to one side. You stared at its open mouth. “And I am keeping you in this room for your safety. Besides, I’m not the one who nearly died.”

“He cut you open from your neck to your navel. Any deeper and your guts would have been on the floor.”

Adrian made a soft scoffing sound. “Then that makes us even, and I am being very generous. Because while my wounds healed within minutes, yours left you raving and ranting for hours on end, for days.” With quick deft movements, he began cutting the fish into small bite-sized cubes. “Do you have any idea what it’s like, to listen as you scream about being gutted by night creatures, and that judging by the way you howled, that the pain was real, if only in your mind? I watched as you tried to pull your own skin off because the fever was consuming you. I had to hold you down.”

You hadn’t known. He hadn’t said a word of this up till now. He didn’t stop. He kept on. 

“You never stopped screaming, even when your voice was reduced to little more than a whisper, not until you passed out from the nightmares. But even then I realised it was very possible that you might die in your sleep or end up like some patients, who sleep never to wake. So whenever you woke to begin a fresh bout of screaming, I would experience one single moment of relief.” He put down the knife and fork; their sharp edges dripped. “Imagine how that made me feel.”

“Adrian…”

“But I don’t think you can. Because if you could, you never would have made a fool out of me, over and over again. I was wrong about you.” He met your gaze then and the fury inside made all your instincts scream. “You are an excellent liar, sweetheart mine. You take the truth and weave it to suit your needs. I suppose it was your parents who taught you that, when they realised you were incapable of making things up?”

Numbly, you nodded. 

“Distraction. Manipulation. I could forgive you all that, I could. But not your selfishness." He sounded almost gentle then, that last word a hushed whisper. 

“My selfishness?” You managed to sound almost even, but not quite. Anger clipped the last syllable of that last word. 

“With everything you knew about the bond, after all that we shared, you still chose to embark on a path that would most likely result in death.” Then it happened. His features turned gaunt, too much bone beneath pale skin. Silken hair paled, shedding its gold. Eyes of molten scalding red glared at you and when he hissed, his mouth was full of sharp teeth. He leaned in closer, a scant breath from your face; you had no idea how you managed not to shrink back. Paralysing fear might have been one factor. “Where did you think that would leave _me_?” 

At first you said nothing. His chest rose and fell, shoulders as rigid as a fortress wall. Then he snarled, lips writhing angrily and you realised that he actually expected a reply. “Alive.” It was the only answer that came to mind. 

He shuddered, as if you had reached out and struck him. His head dipped, shoulders slumped and for one moment you feared he was collapsing in on himself. “Adrian.” You reached out only for him to recoil. When he laughed, the hard bitter sound made the fine hairs on your arms and neck rise. 

“Alive. To wither every day, forever, from the loss of you. Does that sound like living? It’s always easier being the one to leave than the one left behind.” Golden eyes flashed, throbbing with pain that he would not let you feel through the bond. He grasped your face, fingers holding your jaw delicately, looked you over with an expression that was both livid and desperate. “What a lovely thing you are.” His whisper ran like an ache through your bones. “Reckless and wild. And cruel. You took me to hell with you, only you don’t remember it but I still do. _I’m still there_.”

Both of you had tears in your eyes when he abruptly let you go. Adrian took a long deep breath, blinked and suddenly that marble-like mask was back in place. He picked up the fork and speared a piece of fish. “Now eat." 

You did as you were told. 


	23. Haunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh I'm tired. I'm super tired. But when you cannot sleep, you either read or write. At least, that's me. So here's the latest update. But before that, thank you so much to everyone who commented, left kudos on the previous chapter and bookmarked this fic! Thanks for staying with this story even with the recent developments. The end of that tunnel, we're getting there. As always, I do love hearing from you, so please let me know what you think. :)  
> _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

If he continued this way, he was going to lose you. 

The thought came to him, alighting as gently as a spiralling fallen summer leaf on the surface of a smooth lake. It was as gentle as his hands on the bare skin of your shoulder as he pulled the nightgown down, tugging it as low as possible. 

You didn’t make a sound, didn’t flinch even when he picked up the scissors and began the process of removing your sutures. You were a model patient, as mild and submissive as you had been ever since you had confronted him about locking you in. That was the last display of your temper he had seen. It wasn’t that he had broken you; you had simply opted to remove yourself, in your own way, from him. 

When the last of the silk was removed, Adrian examined the scar left. “It’s healed well, hardly noticeable.” It was long though, a reminder of what Godfrey had done, that you had almost died and the abyss that would have consumed him in the wake of that event. Gently, he ran a long elegant finger over the fresh pink scar which would lighten in time. It was then that you reacted, tensing ever so slightly, holding yourself still. Though you didn’t open your mouth at all—the only time you ever opened it around him was to eat—the message was clear: you didn’t want him touching you more than necessary. 

And it hurt. His eyes moved to the mark on your neck. It was almost entirely gone now, just the red pinpricks of his fangs remained. The bond itself was not broken; it was an eternal connection that would last even beyond death. But sufficient time had passed such that the other aspect of it had faded, the closeness of knowing how the other felt, sharing sorrows and pleasure; that was almost gone. He hardly needed to exert any effort to keep himself closed off. To renew that again, he would have to drink from you. It wasn’t an intention, merely a thought. But Adrian couldn’t help the way his mouth watered, the deep aching of his fangs which yearned to plunge themselves into your soft neck, the memory of how wonderful you had tasted, how sweet your submission had been. He was quite certain though that were he to attempt to drink from you again, you would fight him. He could always enthral you, of course. Golden eyes darkened, shadowed by long lashes as he knelt by your side, pushing up the nightgown to bare your thigh, the curve of your waist. Automatically, your hands took over, holding the material so that he could remove the silk in your side. It took some effort to keep his own steady. If he enthralled you, there would be nothing that you wouldn’t do for him, so long as he asked. But it wouldn’t be asking. And it wouldn’t be you, not truly. 

But a part of him that hungered for you, that part of him that didn’t care how he had you, so long as he did was getting less and less easy to quell. Your strange passive rebellion was making his temper simmer; it was as if you were deliberately baiting him. You had yet to apologise, although given that you were now effectively his prisoner, that was understandable. But in his less calm and lucid moments, of which there were plenty, it seemed to Adrian that you refused to acknowledge that you had done anything wrong or worse, that you truly couldn’t even see that you had been wrong to make a decision of that magnitude on your own. That by doing so you had told him, without words, what his place in your life was. 

The soft snip of breaking threads filled the silence between the both of you. When it was done, you pulled down your nightgown as far as it would go, rested your hands lightly on your lap and kept your gaze lowered. The last time you had looked him in the eyes, yours had been full of tears. It was something he saw often when he dreamed, when he slept beside you because he wanted to feel you warm and alive in his arms, and also because even within four walls and a locked door, he couldn’t trust you on your own during the hours of the night. Even if it meant that his sleep was light and troubled when it did come, or that he didn’t sleep at all because yours was full of turmoil. You fell asleep facing away from him, your hands wrapped in the blankets, as if to insulate them from him. And then you would toss and turn restlessly, muttering softly until he quietened you. More than once you cried in your sleep and when he woke you, it took a while before the tears stopped. He hadn’t believed there was anything worse than listening to you screaming for hours on end until he lay there with you in the dark, hearing you stifling your sobs, smelling your tears and knowing he was the cause of it all. 

He only realised he was still kneeling there because your breathing had increased marginally. You were tense, hyperaware of him. You weren’t exactly frightened because he couldn’t smell any fear. But your heartbeat had quickened, the line of your lips was harder. As if you suspected he was going to pounce on you. There was a simple and understandable reason for that, one that was impossible to conceal on mornings when he did sleep and woke in a sweet tangle of limbs with you. He wanted you, badly. He would never stop wanting you. Only he had never thought that one day, such a thing would make you apprehensive. It stung. Swiftly, he got up, retrieved the glass vial of your medicine and handed it to you. “That’s the last one. For all intents and purposes, you’re completely cured.”

“Thank you.” The coolness in your tone could make ice feel cold. You just continued sitting there, implacable in your very well-bottled up rage, like a wronged queen and he, your supplicant who had betrayed you. Part of him wanted to give you a good shaking, part of him wanted to toss you on the bed and show you just how easily he could make you melt, and another part of him thought you were magnificent, no matter how furious you made him. You were, Adrian thought, admiring and bitter by turns, quite something else. You wouldn’t even touch the books he had brought—a concession he sorely regretted— preferring to spend your hours stubbornly staring at the wall and he wondered what schemes you were concocting in that wily intelligent mind of yours. Each time he unlocked the door, he was always prepared for some kind of assault. But you never attacked him. You didn’t attempt to filch the key. You were unresisting when he bathed and fed and held you. Only you also weren’t. You knew him, Adrian thought, all too well. You took the part of you he most wanted and locked that away. 

For all intents and purposes, you two were at an impasse. Deciding that some space apart from you was better, because he honestly wouldn’t put it past you to be sneaking sidelong glances at him and he did not want you reading his face, he left without taking the dinner tray with him. 

The castle wasn’t empty. But it felt lonely, something that hadn’t been present for quite some time. Somehow his feet took him to the bedroom, a place he had avoided thus far. Looking at that big bed in which you had made love and laughed was a special kind of pain. You had lied to him there too. But it was also there that you had bonded yourself to him. Even before that, he remembered you writing your name over and over on his skin until you both had fallen asleep. You cared for him. He was almost certain you loved him. ‘Except there’s more chance of the Church ordering their priests to embrace science and magic than hearing her say it now,’ a small voice, most likely his conscience, informed him pointedly. ‘She would probably rather swallow her tongue.’ Unexpectedly, that made him smile; you could be so proud sometimes. It faded when he recalled how white your face had been when he had snarled at you. How well trained you were, how much you must have faced—and if your nightmares had been any indication, you had plenty of experience with monsters—not to flinch at the terrifying inhuman sight he had presented to you. 

And you had so sweetly told him you would never be afraid of him. He had ruined that. Guilt bit deeply into him. But there was anger there as well. Wasn’t this your fault too? If only you had been honest.. Why hadn’t you been honest? You should have trusted him. And there was the bitter rub, knowing that you hadn’t, not entirely. 

There was also the very real humiliation of having been repeatedly deceived. Every time he thought about it, he practically burned with anger he didn’t know what to do with, that made him want to tear whole rooms apart. It was frightening too, how easy he had made it for you. He hadn’t doubted you for a single second. And what was the reward for his faith? That evening, after you had left, he had been thinking that perhaps there was more than a chance of talking you into staying, since you hadn’t said no outright to his very strong implication that he would very much like to start a family with you, if that was biologically possible, when he had felt that first rush of adrenaline, strong and sharp, fire through his heart and gut and he _knew_ there and then that he had made a mistake: he had let you go off on your own and now some danger had befallen you.

He couldn’t even remember grabbing his sword. He hadn’t even bothered with the doors; he had sent a pair of windows crashing open and he had never moved so quickly in his life as he had that day. And then he had realised the sound of fighting was coming from the Hold. There had been no time for rage at you; that was reserved entirely for that vampire who had you by the end of a whip and who was threatening to drop you from the ceiling. It was a horror story conjured out of his worst nightmares, not being able to reach you while you were trapped with a monster who was getting the upper-hand. If not for all the schooling his father had made him endure, he would never have realised in that moment how to break the Ward Wall without causing an earthquake that would have buried you alive. And yet if he had unlocked it the orthodox way, Godfrey would have cut you down. 

His second mistake had been to let you stake the vampire. Because he had done that, you received another cut, another dose of poison. You had wanted revenge so badly. He had seen that look before in his father’s eyes too and it chilled him to see more than a shadow of it in yours. You would never have forgiven him for holding you back. So against his better judgement he let you go, right towards death. 

He left the bedroom, haunted in the darkness, twisting inwardly with a familiar bitterness and grief. You and his father were more alike than he had realised. His steps made no sound on the floor, the windows he passed gave no light because the drapes were shut. Outside, he sensed evening giving way to night and he wondered if Godfrey would have the gall to come near the castle searching for you, seeking to lure you out. There was a chance that he might have recovered sufficiently by now. Well, you had no access to windows and unless Godfrey could divine a way to get through enchanted walls of stone and metal, he would never be able to see or tempt you, Adrian thought with grim satisfaction. 

In the silence he remembered the crack of wood being crushed, the shattering of glass, his father’s agonised and impotent growls and snarls, his masterplan to unleash an army from hell to scour Wallachia. More blood spilled to numb the pain of not being able to save the one he loved. And he had been willing to kill his own son for it. Tears filled Adrian’s eyes; they fell in the dark as he blinked. He hadn’t believed it. His hand had gone to his blade but he hadn’t drawn. And his father, his own flesh and blood, had not hesitated to slash him so brutally that the wound had actually left a scar which throbbed even now. He had only escaped because Vlad Dracula Tepes had been in possession of some sanity. Perhaps it had been his looks that had saved his life, for his resemblance to his mother was uncanny, something which his father had always been proud of. 

Like his father, he had been away, except that he hadn’t been travelling to explore the world as a man. He had actually been helping. There had been a plague spreading amongst the villages at the southernmost border and he had been there dispensing medicine and giving advice on how to stem the spread. Normally people shrank and ran away screaming at the sight of him once he began speaking, because his fangs betrayed what he was. But with so much death and fear around, they accepted him out of sheer desperation, especially because what he gave them worked. Then one of his father’s soldiers had arrived with the news of his mother’s death. Father had summoned him. To war, the soldier had added solemnly. There hadn’t been breath to mourn his mother, to think of how easily, how effortlessly he could have saved her _if only he had been there_. And Adrian knew then that he had to try to save his father, not from death, but madness. For in that madness lay rivers of blood that the world would drown in. 

He had fully expected Dracula’s fury. He had not anticipated Vlad Tepes’ betrayal. He had trusted his father. Just as he had trusted you. Why did the people he love always choose revenge over him? Would he never be able to save them? Shaking his head, Adrian blindly followed the turn of the corridor, the sweep of the stairs. No, he had saved you. Somehow, he had managed to. You were still with him. And by God and all the forces in the universe, you were not leaving. He wasn’t going to be the one left behind. Not again. 

And if he had to keep you locked in until you came to your senses, so be it. 

Late into the night, he wandered the upper and lower levels of the castle, a pale spectre full of restless ghosts. At last, he ended up where he had first begun: the door of the infirmary. You were already sound asleep, he could tell from your breathing. Quietly he entered, locking the door carefully before slipping the key which he carried on a slender chain back around his neck. Both were enchanted; there was no way for you to remove either from him. Shedding his clothes, he got into bed with you, pulling the covers up over your shoulders as he snuggled you close.

And fell asleep immediately. And into nightmares both old and new. There was a huge bonfire. His mother was burning, her hair incandescent with flames. She didn’t scream though, she just looked at him with hope in her eyes, as if she expected him to save her even when the flesh on her bones began to dissolve into ash, sloughing off, smothering the flames. And suddenly it was Dracula burning, his hands reaching out to him, one carrying his decapitated head, the other with fingers and claws curled and Adrian found himself backing away, horrified, choking on terror, unsure if his father meant to embrace or kill him.

White lightning flashed out, the heat of it making him flinch as he shielded himself with both arms. “Adrian!” he heard you call out. The sword of yours, the one that sang like the wind swept the monstrous spectre of his father aside. “It’s okay.” You smiled. “It’s all right.”

He took a step forward before he realised what was wrong with you. Your entire chest was covered in blood. And you didn’t know until you saw the horror on his face and looked down. “Oh.” It was the smallest sound but it roiled like thunder in his ears. Where your heart ought to have been, there was a gaping hole. In the darkness behind you, red eyes gleamed. 

“Adrian!” 

He couldn’t breathe. And when he finally could, the screaming began.

“Adrian! Wake up!” 

Something hard hit him. Pain ran up the side of his face. And then again.

“Fucking hell, Adrian! Wake the bloody hell up.” And then he was awake and you were there, shaking him furiously with one hand, the other already in a downward arc which you halted at once the moment his eyes snapped open. The room was already flooded with light from the bedside lamp. The gown you wore was somewhat crumpled but pristine without a single drop of red anywhere. The warmth of your hand touched his face, rubbing up and down his cheek. “I’m sorry I slapped you,” you murmured, eyes wide with concern. “But you were shouting and…” You bit your lip. No words were needed, the expression on your face said everything. He had scared you. 

Despite the light, he could feel the aftermath of the nightmare, feel the stranglehold it had over his heart only now just beginning to loosen. Against his side, the press of your hip felt like a burning brand; your fingers were stroking his skin, brushing his hair back from his face, your gaze soft and star-bright. Silhouetted by the lamp, he could see the shape of your body through the thin voluminous material. Leaning up on his elbow, he slid his hand around the back of your neck and kissed you. Hard. A small sound of surprise escaped you; your hand clamped down on his wrist. But you didn’t push him away. The press of your lips was hesitant, gentle but it was lost in the heat of his when he slid his tongue roughly into your mouth as he climbed on top of you, pressing you down swiftly onto the mattress. Your hands tightened on his shoulders; you turned your head abruptly, pulling your mouth free. And gasped when he pushed his thigh between your legs, spreading you open for him. Reaching down, he grasped the hem of your gown and began pulling it up. He needed you. Now. 

“Adrian. Stop,” you whispered. 

He froze. 

“Please stop. I didn’t mean…I don’t want to. Not like this.” 

He could smell the faint honey scent of your arousal. You wanted him, you wanted this, at least your body did. But your heart was also racing, far too quickly, and he realised how your hands were positioned on his shoulders. As if you had been trying to push him away. Without a word he rolled off, sweeping his clothes from the floor. He didn’t look back even though you murmured his name, your voice soft and thick with tears. He didn’t trust himself because he was shaking, he could barely focus above the wilder darker impulses of his nature that roared so closely to the surface, instinct which demanded that he dominate you, that you submit. 

Locking the door hadn’t been so much about keeping you in as it was about keeping him out. A softly uttered timed spell sealed the door; he wouldn’t be able to open it even with the key until several hours later. By then, he should have full control of himself again. 

He didn’t sleep that night.


	24. Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, thanks so much for your kudos, bookmarks and comments on the previous chapter! It is always wonderful hearing from you and makes the writing worth it. Do let me know what you think of this one. I've not written the next chapter but I have it all planned out and I can't wait for you to read that. Everything will be resolved very soon. In the meantime, I hope this suffices!  
> _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

If you continued this way, you would lose him.

The thought came back again and again, spearing you over and over as you lay restless upon the bed, tossing and turning, time passing by in unseen molecules, fine beads of sand sifted through invisible fingers, never to return. You had no idea how to measure them; there were no windows, there was neither natural darkness nor light to help you but you could feel the hours struggling by. 

Or rather, you were the one struggling. In utter frustration, you kicked the blanket off you, curling up into a tight ball. It wasn’t lost on you that you were lying on Adrian’s side of the bed. Breathing in his scent was both a comfort and torment. Pressing your face into the soft feather pillows, you bit your lip, shuddering as memory redrew the feeling of his hands on your body, swift as winds, demanding as a storm. The taste of his mouth. The heat of his desire. Whatever nightmare had come to him, he had wanted the comfort of your body and heart to exorcise it. And you had denied him. 

Not out of spite though, never that. For one moment you had decided that you would give yourself to him, that you would let the both of you have this. But that moment passed and in its wake came a rush of other thoughts. Doubts, fear, anger, worry. It was not acceptable for him to confine you to a room like this. It was not normal. It might have been understandable, especially if you stopped to truly consider Adrian and his extraordinarily tragic circumstances. But you didn’t want him to think that you were in the slightest bit inclined to allow this. You were a grown woman and you had the right to your own choices.

That didn’t mean that you had the right to completely disregard his opinion. You squirmed, tucking your arms more tightly around you, as if to ward off that barb of a thought. But it was stuck under your skin, no matter how you wriggled, rumpling the sheets. In your mind , the image of Adrian’s searing golden-red eyes, bright and heavy with unshed tears, was burned. You didn’t need the bond to know how badly you had hurt him. And now you had a tiny taste of what he must have endured. 

It was the pressure of his arms around you which had interrupted your sleep. You had grown accustomed to waking, mostly in the mornings and sometimes during the night, to find Adrian’s arms wrapped around you, his face pressed against the back of your head, his breathing a soft song in your ear. You could tell when he was awake and whether he was asleep just by listening to that. During the initial days of your confinement, you had taken great pleasure in pushing him away, if only because you wanted him to hurt because you were hurting. But eventually, you stopped, mostly because he never stopped and on the occasions when you woke before him, you would be very still. You would pretend for a few sweet moments that you weren’t, in essence, his prisoner, that you were just simply lovers. The truth was, you missed him. You missed what you had shared together and the longer you dwelled on that, a single fear became clearer: that what you had would never come back, that you and he had ruined it together and all that was left were broken remnants. 

There was also the fact that you weren’t simply lovers. You rolled onto your back, scowling at the ceiling. There was nothing simple about a monster hunter and the half-vampire son of Dracula having a relationship together. And even worse, this was definitely Adrian’s first relationship, as it was yours. Despite the lovers you had had, you had no experience trying to cultivate any kind of lasting emotional bond with them and anyone that thought he had a claim on you received either a tongue-lashing or arse-kicking that would send him running away. So, needless to say, your abilities in this aspect were stunted, to put it rather mildly. As for Adrian, you wouldn’t use those words on him. It was your choice to steer clear of relationships ever since you realised you would be auctioned off to the first man your parents and you—but mostly your parents—jointly deemed acceptable. Thanks to his vampire-human heritage, a circumstance of birth he had no control over, it was infinitely more difficult for him to have a relationship. And to make matters worse, everyone he loved had been ripped away from him. You’d lost family too, but your parents had been there. The Clan had been there.

You turned and spotted a slender glinting thread on the pillow next to yours. Gently, you touched it. In the light of the lamp, the single strand of fair hair shone like real gold. Unlike full-blooded mortals, Adrian did not drop hair. It must have torn loose as he struggled on the bed. And that was why you had woken up; his embrace had turned painful. His breathing was terribly laboured, like a person half drowning and it had taken all your strength and then some to slip yourself free and snap on the lamp. To see his face twisted, contorted by fear, to hear the rapid mutterings you couldn’t quite catch flow from his lips wrenched your heart. In that moment, you forgot everything else and went to him. But it was when he started screaming and writhing that you panicked. You shook him with all your might but the nightmare was stronger and though you truly didn’t want to do it, you slapped him. Hard. The second time you put all the force of your arm behind it. If Adrian had been a normal man, you would have broken his jaw. But thank God he had woken up, his skin cold and sticky with fear but unhurt and awake, with you.

“ _Do you have any idea what it’s like, to listen as you scream…_ ” 

You were never going to entirely be able to forget the way he sounded and looked when horror had held him in the palm of its hand. And that had been for scant minutes. But you, you had screamed for hours on end, for days. 

“ _You took me to hell with you, only you don’t remember it but I still do. I’m still there._ ”

You couldn’t claim to fully understand that statement. But now you had some inkling of it. Your gut twisted, your heart tightened in your chest until you had to sit up because you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Whatever you had experienced, it had been a thousand times worse and more for him. Tears stung your eyes; fingers tightened around your nightgown as you squeezed handfuls of it. He was right, you were cruel and reckless, though you hadn’t meant to cause him all that pain. That was the furthest thing from what you intended.

‘The road to hell…’ You groaned as that homily sprung up in your mind, replete with Trevor Belmont’s smooth know-it-all tone, ‘is paved with good intentions.’

“Shut up Trevor,” you muttered, turning on your side, trying to shove that smug persona your mind had conjured into that dark mental basement you were so fond of. Unfortunately, the mental version of your cousin was as resilient as its flesh and blood counterpart. It would not be stopped.

‘I’m not the one who broke the golden rules.’ 

You groaned and pulled the pillow over your face. 

‘Unlike you, I broke the lesser one of fucking a virgin, once, because I didn’t know she was actually a virgin. You, on the other hand, clearly knew he was a vampire.’

“He’s a dhampir,” you growled. 

‘Same difference, Pips.’

“Stop calling me that! I was taller than you until you got to sixteen.”

‘Well, you’re shorter than me now for the rest of your life so I get to gloat.’

“Not if I cut your legs off at the knees.”

He snorted, blowing a long dark strand of unruly hair off his face. A lot of time had passed since you had last seen him but your memory of him and his mannerisms was crystal clear. ‘So what now, my dear cousin? How are you going to get yourself out of this shithole of a mess?’

And with that vexing question, Trevor-in-your-head conveniently disappeared down that mental basement without providing any useful insights. Pulling the pillow off, you scowled again. Clearly you had been cooped up on your own staring at four walls for far too long if you had resorted to conversing with an imaginary Trevor. You wished you could say you had spent those hours conjuring some fantastic scheme to escape but the truth was, you weren’t. You knew when you were squarely beaten and right now, you weren’t going anywhere without Adrian’s permission. As if you were a pet dog or cat. Your temper flared, bruised pride making itself felt. He had no right at all to do this to you. Just as you hadn’t had a right to decide what was best for him. 

That particular epiphany had just dawned when you heard the sound of a key in the lock. Tumblers turned, the dragon’s wing descended, and in walked Adrian who, though as beautiful as ever, looked like complete hell. Whatever he did, you mustn’t flinch, you told yourself. Fear was a weakness. And in this case, you were worried about how Adrian would perceive himself if you shied away from him, especially given what had happened hours before. You never wanted him to think that last night was a rejection of him as your lover; you would always want him. You would want him all your life.

And somehow, even though a great part of you felt terribly hurt and humiliated by him locking you up in this room, it somehow felt less empty because he was here. That, you thought sadly and with no small sense of wonder, was probably because of the bond. Even if you couldn’t sense his emotions, just having him near made your world spin just that more securely. It filled some void in you, probably that intangible aspect of your heart or soul which you had given into his keeping. And if it felt like that for you, it must be the same for him. You should never have bonded with him. You were not meant to stay. The two of you were at least equal in stupidity and desire, like two dumb teenagers in adults’ bodies. ‘How perfect,’ you thought miserably, swallowing as Adrian approached you. 

He was holding some kind of silky material. Immediately you knew what it was for. Your gut reaction was to tackle him and maybe hit him this time, for real. That or cry, both of which were utterly unacceptable. Instead you forced yourself to remain calm and before he could speak, you held out your hand. “I’ll do it myself.” To your credit, your voice quivered only the slightest bit. Adrian flushed, looking slightly shame-faced before he reverted to the unreadable mask he wore around you. It took you seconds to blindfold yourself. At least he had the decency not to scrutinise the tightness of the knots. 

Then you were lifted easily and carefully into his arms. His gait was so smooth that you could hardly tell you were moving. You had no clue as to whether left or right turns were being taken, which was entirely the point of this. You bit down on your inner cheek, tasting copper and not caring if Adrian could smell it. You knew he did when his hands tightened ever so slightly. 

Based on how long this was taking, he was going to shift you to your new prison chambers in either the deepest bowels of the castle or its highest tower. Of course, you had no idea which one it was, even when you were lowered to your feet, Adrian’s arm securely around your waist and then he was leading you through a door. Once it was firmly shut behind the both of you, he removed the blindfold. 

Despite the circumstances as to why you were here, you couldn’t help but find the room breathtakingly beautiful. It was huge, the ceiling high beyond belief, an enormous map of the known world and its continents drawn upon it. The walls were embossed with a floral motif of very thin swirling vines which bloomed delicate flowers, at least those parts that were not covered by the huge tapestries depicting scenes so vivid and real it looked as if the characters could just step right out into the real world. The Lady of the Lake and Galahad. The Tree of Life. A beautiful white city enclosed by impossibly high mountains. A unicorn putting its head onto the lap of a maiden and it was difficult to decide which one of them was more entranced. The colours were richer and more vivid than any you had ever seen and you were someone who had actually set foot in castles and palaces in several countries. It was as if the artist had taken rainbows and jewels and melted them into colours. 

There were wall to wall shelves full of books. There were desks with paper and ink. Hell, there were even musical instruments that you weren’t going to touch because you didn’t believe in either raising the dead or disturbing their rest. There was a huge chess set on a large round table with two chairs. The pieces were carved and polished and presented in their full forms. The knights were astride rearing horses. The kings were slim, tall and regal, their robes so detailed that you could make out the studs in the leather armour they wore. It pleased you to note that the queens were armed with swords, despite their beautifully flowing gowns. The bishops were richly ornamented with identical covetous expressions on their faces. The rooks had intricately carved crenellations distinguishing one from the other. When you touched the knight, the horse actually neighed, pawing the air. Acting on a hunch, you tapped a square on the board and watched as the horse trotted over. “Bloody amazing,” you breathed, unable to suppress your delight. 

Adrian kept his distance, rightfully guessing that no room, however beautiful, would quell your anger with him. The most he could hope for was to remain in the background, allowing you to forget him for a while as you explored the place. At the far end of the room was an enormous canopy bed, the frame carved in the shapes of trees whose interlocked branches were heavy with leaves; the fine sheer white material draped softly over it and which flowed to the ground looked like waterfalls of clouds. 

And next to the bed were your belongings. Your travel pack. Your own clothes. Your boots. Unsurprisingly, your weapons were nowhere to be seen. There was a huge wardrobe nearby. The wood hummed audibly when touched and you weren’t surprised when you opened it to find handsomely sewn shirts along with pants and boots in a wide variety of colours. These were the kinds of outfits you would pick for yourself. “Magical wardrobe?” you asked without looking back at him.

“One of the few enchanted items that my mother actually needed.” 

You turned sharply but he answered before you could ask. “No, this is not one of her rooms. But that wardrobe was hers. Not everywhere we travelled had towns nearby. In fact, my father often ensured we were in remote places when he wasn’t away travelling. And she couldn’t always dress me in the same things. Neither would she permit my father to keep wearing the same black outfits he used to wear before he knew her.”

“I imagine travelling to a town would have been less troublesome than obtaining such an artefact.” The wood was very smooth beneath your hand. It didn’t look old at all but rather felt old. “Your father must have possessed a mirror with teleportation abilities. And I have no doubt you can disguise your appearance with magic.” 

“In answer to both your statements, of course. But it would not be real.” He said it with such quiet intensity that you looked up. “When people smiled at me, or were nice to me, or remarked on what a handsome family we three made, none of that was real. They thought we were human. And that was all that mattered, not how polite we were or how warmly my mother chatted with the local women or that I had spent the better part of an hour playing with their children without incident. Nothing mattered once they realised what my father and I were, what my mother was for consorting with a vampire and bearing his child.”

You could more or less guess what had happened. “Was it a priest or hunters your family ran into?”

Adrian smiled but there was nothing merry about the bitter upward curl of the corner of his mouth. “Both. Father would have killed them, if not for Mother. Instead we fled and took the castle somewhere else. After that, no more family trips to town. When Father travelled, he maintained an illusion of being human to avoid leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. But not me, not unless it was absolutely necessary. I won’t hide what I am.”

You nodded. “That’s fair enough. You aren’t the kind to leave a trail of bodies in your wake.”

His expression gentled. “I hope you like the room.”

Heaviness settled in your chest. “You know I do. But a cage is still a cage, however gilded.” And once again, there were no windows at all. The warm light of the wall lamps kept everything sufficiently bright and cast a soft glow on the place. Yet in that moment you wanted nothing more than an opened window and the wind in your hair. You sat down on the bed, your back facing Adrian, a wall to your face. It was a much prettier wall but it was almost as if you had never left the infirmary. 

You heard him walk up, felt the firm mattress dip as he settled down beside you, so close that you could feel his coolness next to your warmth. He made no attempt to touch you. “Promise me you won’t go after Godfrey. Swear you won’t and I’ll believe you.” He spoke with the quiet desperation of a person who was completely sincere. 

“I can’t do that Adrian.”

A soft bitter laugh escaped him. “Why do I even bother? You didn’t even hesitate for a second.”

“I’ve lied enough to you.” Lowering your gaze from his, you turned to face the wall again. “And I won’t hide what I am.”

He sat there for the longest time before finally getting up. You counted his footsteps until he reached the door. Once the lock turned, you waited, studying the graceful arcs of the vines, the bell-shaped petals. Once you were absolutely certain that Adrian was not coming back, you rolled over the bed, slid down the other side and grabbed your pack. Kneeling on the floor, you swiftly emptied out the contents. Running your fingers along the bottom of the bag, you dug them between the sides and the base. Then you pulled. The threads were designed to withstand a normal inspection, not the hard tug of someone who knew what they were searching for. The false bottom came away easily enough. Several items lay in the space between but only one of them interested you. With hands that trembled slightly, you lifted out a thin flat leather case. Snapping it open, you gazed at the five lockpicks and the beautifully crafted slender metal tool which came together with them. 

Then you slipped them back inside the pack, replacing the false bottom before stuffing your items back in. It would not do to be hasty; if you wanted freedom, you would have to plan first. For the first time in days, you smiled.


	25. To Have a Truce...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I thought I would not be able to update but then this happened. So now I will pat myself on the shoulder and go lie down. But before I do that, thanks everyone for the kudos, bookmarks and comments on the last chapter! It's always encouraging to receive support and lovely to hear from you. I thought this chapter would be the one to tie up the relationship issues; looks like penultimate is more like it. Some Skyrim and GOT Easter eggs in this chapter. I hope you enjoy it and please let me know what you think!  
> ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Locks, you had long ago decided, were somewhat like lovers. There were a wide variety of them, ranging from those who gave in at the slightest handling to those who were far more finicky and in need of extra massaging and a lot of patience and skill before success was achieved. But you were an expert lockpicker, a master even because in the basement of your family home was a section dedicated to close to a hundred locks of varying levels of difficulty and created for various purposes. And since you weren’t great at spellcasting, to say the least, you had no recourse but to learn to do things the old-fashioned way. 

Lip between your teeth, you applied pressure, twisting your fingers carefully, poking and prodding, above all, listening. The tumblers whispered alluringly, leading you on, beckoning you until they finally gave and you heard and felt the immensely satisfying sound and sensation of the mechanism giving way, sliding back and leaving the door entirely at your disposal. This time when you grasped the ornate door handle, you narrowed your eyes with victory and a soft hiss of triumph. Very slowly and smoothly, you pressed the handle down and holding it down, slid the door open. Then you peeked out. This corridor, like all the others, had an immensely high ceiling and walls; the floor was of smooth white marble with a plush deep purple carpet lining it. Wall lamps kept the place well lit; there were no windows around. Sticking your head out, you arched your neck, closed your eyes briefly and took a long deep inhale of freedom. 

Holding that breath in your lungs and mouth for as long as you could, you then closed the door, relocked it and stashed your equipment safely at the bottom of your pack. 

Then you settled yourself in the large armchair at the table which held the chess set. By then you had already exhaled, the scent of freedom was long gone but the sensation of unlocking the door, that was power. That was a balm against the sensation of walls closing in, of feeling like a helpless bird in a gilded iron cage. The knowledge that you now had a secret which Adrian knew nothing about brought some kind of balance to your fraught mind. It also calmed some of that rage that was wont to flare up against him every now and then. 

Hooking your legs over the armrest, you ran an idle finger over the exquisitely stitched cushion seats; the thread, you believed, was made of gold. But it was the chess set which drew your attention. Locks, you had long ago decided, were like lovers and right now, you were confronted with Adrian, your dhampir lover and captor whose past was as riddled with tragedy as yours was, even more so. If you insisted on clashing head on with him, you feared no one would win and you would lose even more than he would. The thought of Adrian pinning you down was normally an arousing one but the thought that he might one day do that to forcefully turn you into a vampire made your marrow freeze. Because everything that he was doing now was fuelled by a terror of loss. He was so frightened of losing you that he would keep you here against your will and hope for the best, hope that you would change your mind and become some quiescent obedient lover. Unfortunately for him, ever since your parents had dropped you off at the Belmont Manor and forced you to stay there, you hated chains, tangible or otherwise, with a vengeance. 

And love could always turn to hate. It was like that with family, for Godfrey’s abiding hatred of all that was Morris was some warped reflection of how deeply he had once loved his family. You never wanted to see the day when you and Adrian were bound in misery to each other via the bond. That would destroy you as much as it would him.

And hence, unlike when you were thirteen and jammed the end of a dagger into a particularly difficult master-lock, only for the end to break off which left the lock far too damaged to pick and you with a sore arse because your mother had beaten you, you needed a lot more patience, skill and careful thought into solving the problem that Adrian now posed. Because, despite your secret victory, you knew that ultimately, it was limited. The castle was Adrian’s, it responded to him. Those great front doors would never part for you and if he caught you like that out in the open, unarmed and unprepared… You shivered, sinking further into the chair. 

Reaching a hand out, you plucked the ebony king and queen from their stands. Both of them were armed, both crowned. But in chess, the queen was the stronger piece; it was she who took the king; it was the king that needed protecting. You couldn’t help the feeling of frustration which arose; after all, why did you have to do all the work? But that was what relationships were all about. In your head, you could hear your father’s gentle voice. For a moment you felt his hand stroking your hair. You had just come home and your mother was sequestered away in your brother’s room or your sister’s, you couldn’t quite remember by now. But you did remember the sound of her weeping; always, always she cried and your father would spend hours with her, trying to comfort her. 

You had asked him that very same question. Why did he have to do all the work? Wasn’t Mama going to do anything other than cry? He was so concerned about her happiness. Why wasn’t she concerned with his? “Because, child,” he responded, his eyes dark with exhaustion, the lines at the corners of his eyes deeper than you remembered, “I love Mama. And because I do, I will put in the effort. Because she cannot, not now. So I have to support her. That’s what we do for those we love.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “So forgive Mama for not being here for you. And let’s try our best to help her.”

Your chest felt slightly tight, and despite yourself, you couldn’t quite help the tears which filled your eyes. If you wanted to save your relationship and get your freedom, you would have to forgive him first. Forgive him for locking you up, forgive him for taking away rights that were yours. As he would have to forgive you for your lies and manipulation, for taking away choices that had been his to make. “Oh God, I fucked up so badly, Papa,” you whispered. But you knew his answer to that: as long as you weren’t dead, there was always a chance. That was his typical reply when he trounced you nightly at chess whenever you were both home at the same time. 

So you would try. You had to. Gently, you replaced the king and queen pieces. Folding your hands together, you contemplated them. You thought about what you would do. The game, as your Papa was wont to say, was afoot. 

Once you had a better perspective on the matter and had drawn up a couple of plans, you went to the bookshelves and began taking down a number of books which you knew by heart: Henderson’s Bestiary, Wallachian Myths and Legends, A Game at Dinner, Advances in Lockpicking. That last one you simply couldn’t resist. You took some others you hadn’t read for good measure and dumped the entire lot next to your bedside table. Then you sorted them out into categories, namely those you had read and hadn’t. The second pile you divided again once you browsed through the lot. Some were exceedingly obscure and would take a longer time. The reason why you were doing this was very simple. Without windows, you had no way to measure time. And for the past two days, Adrian had left you very much alone unless he came to bring you food. What you wanted was to know exactly how many hours passed between his arrival and departure. That way, you could at least count time. And you could do it simply because you had a good estimate of how long each book would take you, depending on the subject matter, the difficulty of the language used and whether you had read it before or not.

Shucking off your boots, you arranged the pillows—Adrian had given you an excess of them—into a comfortable pile, leaned back and began reading. 

You had just finished the last page of Henderson’s Bestiary when he came in. Snapping the book shut, you slipped your boots back on and loped over to the table. The sight of two dinner trays surprised you. Perhaps you weren’t the only one to do a bit of reflecting. With the chess set in between, both of you settled down into your respective seats and began to quietly eat. Pheasant was on the menu, cooked to perfection of course. It was delicious and you wanted to tell him, only that the silence felt so loud it was almost hard to break. And there was a good amount of awkwardness, for you two had hardly spoken in days. And if you were to suddenly try now and he was not in the mood…you would look like an idiot. But if you didn’t, you would never be able to put into place your plan. Inwardly you groaned. Pride really was the hardest thing in the world to swallow. 

“No appetite?” 

To your embarrassment, you jumped a little at the unexpected sound of his voice. And realised that apart from a single bite, you had been pushing your food around. “Not really,” you confessed, “although it is delicious. I’m just…” Bored. Trapped. Frustrated. Nervous. Choking on pride. “…Not very hungry,” you finished lamely. Then you forced yourself to take another bite. 

By the time Adrian finished his food, you had more than two thirds of your plate left but you honestly couldn’t bring yourself to eat more. Instead you wiped your mouth on the napkin and twisted it underneath the table. 

“Would you like to go outside for a walk?”

If you had looked up any faster you might have hurt your neck. “Really?” You couldn’t have disguised the amazement in your voice if you tried. “You mean…now?”

Emotions flickered over Adrian’s face, disappearing too quickly for you to read them. But something gentled in his eyes. “If you want to, we can go now.”

“Yes please.” You were trying to be as dignified as possible but couldn’t quite repress the wide smile that kept threatening to break out over your face. “But the food…”

“I’ll take care of that later.”

You couldn’t remember having been so eager about anything, or as excited. Part of you felt ire that a simple thing such as a walk, such as being given permission to go for a walk would cause such anticipation but you pushed that feeling aside. It might have been justified, but it had no place in the current situation and would serve no purpose. It was all you could do to keep still as Adrian opened the door. He reached out an arm, intending to slip it around your waist. Instead you caught his hand and held it firmly in your own. It was a little hard to tell who was more surprised: him or you. “Shall we?” you smiled, brushing aside any awkwardness. 

Yours was the last room at the end of the corridor. But before that were several other rooms. Some were like the one you inhabited, but not quite as beautifully decorated. There was a particularly large one that was full of fantastic sculptures of iron, bronze and gold. There were nudes, statues depicting Greek myths and not for the first time did you watch a completely frustrated Apollo clutching at Daphne who was midway through her metamorphoses into a laurel tree. But honestly, what gave you the most pleasure was the fact that everything here was just different from the room you had been confined to, that you were actually out and about walking, and not in circles either. You took your time examining each piece; the longer you took, the longer you could enjoy your freedom. Adrian had released you the moment you entered the room, though he followed you at a distance. And though a large part of you did enjoy having space, there was also a substantial part which wished he hadn’t. For all that he had done, you missed him but were still too proud to say so. 

‘Well, Rome wasn’t built in a day,’ you consoled yourself. You could work on dissolving your ego, or at least enough of it. You could… A flash of pure white glistening with a light all of its own caught your eye. It was a huge marble statue of a chimera, so white it looked carved from a winter moon, so large you had to crane your head back enough to take it all in. This one was placed on a low dais and there was a transcription carved at the edge. It took you a few seconds to realise it was Akkadian. Bending down slightly, you began reading it. “Speak so that I may have breath—”

Adrian’s alarmed shout barely registered because in front of you, the chimera’s mane writhed. The air suddenly felt hot. And you remembered that chimeras breathed fire. Fuck. Behind you and to the sides, there was no cover. So without thinking, you threw yourself forward into a roll that took you directly beneath the belly of the beast just as the roar of gushing flame erupted. Fierce heat licked through the air as you cowered beneath the marble body of the monster. The dais vibrated and to your horror, you could see the forefeet of the monster trying to break free from the platform. And then suddenly it was over. The fire stopped. The vibrations ceased. And the chimera went back to being just a marble statue. 

And Adrian pulled you out from underneath it. “What the hell is that?” you yelled. “Is that some trap for unfortunate thieves? And you kept this monster on the same floor as me without giving me my weapons?” By then you were shouting. But you stopped when you realised that he was whiter than the statue. “I’m okay though,” you muttered, lowering your voice. 

Your reassurance was quite useless because Adrian proceeded to hold you at arm’s length and examine you. “I’m fine,” you repeated. When he turned you around, you saw that everything before the statue had been reduced to ash; there was a wide half circle of charred floor. If you hadn’t dived under the monster…you gulped. Then you were turned back around and he pulled you against him. If he hugged you any harder, he would break you. “I’m okay Adrian,” you said, trying not to wheeze. “This isn’t your fault. And it’s not mine either,” you added for good measure. 

“I’m sorry. I should have warned you—”

Pushing against him until you had some space, you grabbed his face, framing it with your hands. “Adrian Tepes, it is not your fault. I overreacted. And how many people do you know who can recognise Akkadian, let alone speak it?”

“Probably Sypha.”

“She’s a Speaker. She’s expected to know. But Trevor does not know Akkadian, I assure you. Not all monster hunters are versed in obscure languages. I don’t know that many either; Akkadian’s one of a very small handful.” Though you were shaken by the fact that you had nearly been reduced to ash, you mustered your nerves and focused on him instead. “In any case, just out of curiosity, what is this?” 

“A Living Statue, a curio my father won from another vampire much older than him. I don’t understand though, my father never warned me about it and I’ve spoken that verse before and nothing happened.”

“Huh.” You looked at him, then back at the statue and thought for a moment. “Maybe it’s because chimeras are traditionally female, at least in the myths. So it would take a female to provide the correct ‘breath’, so to speak.”

“Perhaps.”

“So you see, it’s not your fault.” You smiled, rubbed your thumbs over the high curve of his cheekbones. He had such soft skin. You had almost forgotten. And then you frowned as something occurred to you. “It isn’t your fault either that Godfrey poisoned me, twice.” Golden eyes widened; he tried to pull back but you held on. “Those were my choices. Mine. They weren’t good, to say the least.” You flushed with shame, hands dropping to his shoulders, lowering your eyes. “And I’m sorry that you had to live with the consequences.” 

There, you had said it. That hadn’t been as awful as you imagined, except that now you were left feeling so vulnerable that you wished the earth really would open up and swallow you. Adrian’s silence wasn’t making things better. You were wondering what else you could say to make things right, so you didn’t realise what he was doing until his mouth brushed your cheek, his lips and breath so soft and warm that you turned, almost touching his mouth. The wave of longing that came over you made your knees weak and Adrian inhaled sharply before withdrawing. 

“Shall we?” And for the first time in days, he smiled. 

You had assumed he meant to send you back to your room, but then he tugged you in a different direction. You were following him up the spiral staircase when he paused, hesitating. Whatever he had planned, this was spontaneous but unfortunately, it would reveal too much to you in terms of location. The lack of the blindfold was indication enough of that. Your heart sank but you tried not to look or sound too disappointed. Now was the wrong time to push. “Let’s go back then.”

“No.” He looked down at you. “If you would just close your eyes…”

Again, some part of you bridled at that but you nodded, doing as he asked. You were lifted in his arms and you tried very hard not to inhale his scent along with its warmth. Baby steps, you reminded yourself. Rome wasn’t built in a day. 

You only realised you had almost nodded off when he called your name softly and you jerked upright, eyes opening. “We’re here.” Then he slid you out of his arms and onto your feet before opening a door. Sunlight flooded in, the light stinging your eyes but you didn’t wait, stepping out eagerly onto the castle walkway, one hand lifted to shade them as you eagerly took in your surroundings. The sky was a perfect robin’s egg blue with thick white clouds scudding across it. The sun turned the canopy of the forest all around into a glistening sea of green and gold which fell and rose with every breath of the fresh cold wind that blew your hair around your shoulders and about your face. Laughing, you tucked your unruly locks behind your ears, eagerly looking over the low wall to take in the land below. The sun was as hot and wonderful as any kiss you ever felt on your skin, the warm stone a welcome caress when you leaned on it with your arms. Even the Manor, the site of your folly, was not an unpleasant thing to behold. 

***  
You were so absorbed with finally being outdoors after the longest time that you didn’t notice Adrian standing in the shadow of the doorway, a look of profound sorrow on his face. You were so delighted just to be outside, one might have thought he had caught a rainbow or a star for you. You reminded him of the occasional wild creature his mother would help him nurse back to health. The deer with the broken leg. The starling attacked by an owl. The wolf with an arrow in its side. Eventually, they had all befriended him. But nothing compared to the lure of the outdoors. Once they were well, he had set them free and none of them had looked back or hesitated. 

You were pale under the sunlight, no amount of which could conceal the dark shadows beneath your eyes. Just like him, you weren’t sleeping well at all. And now that he wasn’t forcing you to finish your food, it was only a matter of time before you lost weight. You were right; he had put you in a gilded cage. Because you were what you were and you were not going to change that for him. And even then he couldn’t keep you safe from harm, as that incident with the statue had shown. He might have reached you in time to save you, but not to stop you from being partially burned. And that kind of heat would have charred flesh and bone within seconds. For one horrendous moment he thought you would either die or suffer terrible injuries. But you had saved yourself. 

Your statement about not having your weapons rang in his ears. While the castle was well-defended, it could be breached. And if Godfrey killed him, which was something all too possible despite his own insinuations to you, then you truly would be defenceless. And all because of him. And yet he could not trust you to have them. He simply couldn’t. He ground his teeth so hard that his jaws hurt. While your apology went some way to soothing his anger, everything still felt too raw. And there was so much left unsaid which lay between you and him. 

When he approached you, disappointment flickered over your face though you tried hard to hide it. “Are we going back now?” 

To say that he felt awful would be an obscene understatement. And in that moment, he suddenly recognised the very real possibility that you might grow to hate him. No thing in a cage ever loved the one who put it there. Not unless it was broken. “If I leave you here for the afternoon, will you promise to stay and not wander the castle?” In other words, you had to give your word you would not attempt to escape. 

Your eyes rounded with surprise. And then you smiled, so brightly and he knew you couldn’t possibly know that it felt like someone was twisting a knife in his gut. “Yes, yes I’ll stay. But—”

“It’s a hot day. I’ll get some things for you from the room which you will need. But you have to stay here.”

You flinched slightly; that last part had come out a lot harsher than he had meant for it to. Instead of replying, you simply nodded and then went back to looking over the wall. Unless you could grow wings or cast a spell, which he knew you couldn’t, there was no way for you to leave while he was gone. And as long as there was sunlight, you were perfectly safe.

You were at the far end of the walkway looking over the other side when he came back, so he silently left the tray with some fruit and water, and three of the books you had left by your bedside in the shade of the doorway. Then he closed the door. He wasn’t senseless enough to lock it; after all, the castle was your only source of safety and this was a test, something he was certain you had worked out. 

He spent the rest of the day trying not to watch you from one of the higher towers while he thought about what to do. Your apology was an olive branch. But whether it was a genuine or calculated one, he was divided about that. He had already made the mistake of assuming you were honest. He loved you, but he was never going to blindly trust you again. Or anyone else for that matter. Assuming that everyone was like Trevor and Sypha was the naïve mistake of an inexperienced child. 

But one thing did become clear to him as the hours passed and the sky grew from a bright hard blue to the softer rosier hues of rich gold which indicated evening was not too far away. You were deeply unhappy. And so was he. Something had to be done. To have a truce, trust was needed. Very well then, he would trust you. Just enough for both of you to get talking. With a sigh, Adrian rubbed a hand over his tired eyes before deciding that it was time to go and fetch you.

When he got to the walkway, he found you sitting in the cool shadow of the doorway, an opened book on your lap while you slept. You didn’t wake even when he crouched down in front of you. For a moment he contemplated letting you stay out longer but red was creeping into the sky and he wasn’t going to take any chances with Godfrey out there. But before he woke you, he kissed you softly, brushing your hair back, listening to the slow even sound of your breathing, knowing that this was one of the rarer moments when you were perfectly at rest. “Oh sweetheart,” he whispered, his throat so tight he could barely speak the words he wasn’t quite ready to tell you yet, “I’m sorry too.”


	26. Help Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this did take me a little by surprise. But the chapter's here and so I'll post it. Thanks so much everyone for your patience and understanding. For those of you who were concerned, I'm sorry if I worried you and it was really sweet to hear from you. Things are settling, somewhat and while I can't guarantee regular updates, I'm at least somewhat hopeful that there won't be a repeat of this long break. I hope you enjoy the update! Do let me know what you think of it.  
> ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was one thing to decide that it was time both of you had a talk. It was quite another to summon the courage up for it, especially when he feared said talk would not go well and any tentative progress—or rather, recovery—in your relationship would be lost. Betrayal had been rife on both sides and when he thought about apportioning guilt and who was to blame more, Adrian felt a deep uncomfortable knot in his chest. That was the wrong sentiment, though it had been one he had held to for the longest time; it wasn’t about who should bear more blame but rather that each of you should be blamed for serious mistakes, each of a different nature. You shouldn’t have lied to him, he shouldn’t have imprisoned you. And the worst part was in the late hours of the night, now that he was no longer sharing a bed with you, when the memory of your skin and the scent of your hair evoked a longing so powerful that sometimes made it hard to breath, it came to him quietly that both of you had made your mistakes for the same reason: love. You prized his life above yours and thus deceived him. He was terrified that you would go after Godfrey again, hence your current imprisonment. 

And beyond that lay the realisation that he was never going to let you go, no matter what. He couldn’t. While it was convenient to blame the bond for that, Adrian had considered that that conviction had been birthed from the moment you had become lovers. Giving himself to you had been as natural as the changing of the seasons, as the deep silent currents which drove the oceans and chased the call of the moon. The strength with which he loved you frightened him; already it had driven him to become your captor, something he would never have even considered before. If he wasn’t careful, his love would break you and turn him into someone else. Lately he suffered from the recurring nightmare of Trevor and Sypha coming back to demand your release, something that he would not agree to. It always ended badly and he would wake in his bed, cold to the bone, drenched in sweat. Somewhere in Godfrey and Lilith’s story—and even his parents’—lay a cautionary tale about love and monsters. 

So he had to proceed very carefully, very cautiously with this talk. It was not something he could rush into. Your apology had gone a long way to soothing any fury he felt, and Adrian was certain that giving you more and more freedom would have a similar effect on any rage you were nursing against him. Hence the change in today’s schedule. For the past few days, your afternoon excursions had continued and you had been as good as your word: not once had you attempted to escape or slip away, not even when he had brought you down to the outer wall of the lowest tower. There wasn’t even an interested gleam in your eye, although you had shot him a curious, speculative look when you realised that you were close enough to the ground to encourage the hatching of escape plans. Once again he wondered what it was you had in mind. He knew you played chess regularly in the room although he had never seen you; he could smell your scent on the pieces. It was something you didn’t bother to hide; maybe you wanted him to know. 

A small sound of exasperation escaped him as he approached your room. He could second-guess all he wanted and come no closer to any answers. All he could rely upon was what he had learned in that time you had spent together and hope for the best outcome. Quietly he unlocked the door and as expected, you were already awake. What he wasn’t expecting was the sight of you wrapping up the chess set in a large silken shawl. The surprise on his face was mirrored by yours and for some reason your eyes darted to the books at your bedside before returning to him and finally, sliding down to the large covered basket he was carrying. He knew that you realised what he had in mind when a wide smile spread over your face. “Are we having a breakfast picnic?”

“I thought we could do with a change.” His casual answer belied the fact that his heart was beating faster; there was a light in your eyes that he hadn’t seen for quite a while and he wanted very much to think that it wasn’t just the prospect of something new that put it there. “And speaking of change…”

“I was thinking that we could play a game in the afternoon. Lovely as the books are, it’s been some time since I had a worthy opponent to beat.” Your smile turned into a dazzling grin as you threw down the gauntlet. It was a lost cause to resist the smile that yours drew from him. “But I don’t mind savouring victory in the morning either.”

“Oh really?” he drawled. “Let it not be said that I kept a lady waiting.”

Swiftly knotting the bundle, you hurried over to him and slipped your hand into his. “I’m not a lady,” you quipped with a finely arched brow. For a moment he thought you would tiptoe and press your mouth to his; he dreamed of your kisses some nights, and also some hours during the day. But you didn’t, despite the softness of your expression and he had to remind himself that things weren’t the same as before; perhaps they would never be. Both of you had seen aspects in the other that you would rather not have seen. But if these could be overcome—with time and effort and luck…it was entirely possible that he would get to keep you of your own free will. But first he had to open the door and let you out of the cage that he had built. 

***

Closing your eyes once you went beyond the spiral staircase had become second nature to you. But this was the first time you had ever had to keep them closed for so long. At times you grew uncertain but the steady warmth of Adrian’s hand in yours kept your steps from faltering. At some point, he had threaded your fingers together, not that you minded. 

You were wondering just when this corridor would end, especially since you had already taken a left and right turn some time back. “Hold on.” Adrian stopped and so did you. Apparently you had reached yet another flight of stairs. He slipped his arm around your waist, pressing your bodies together as he levitated both of you off the ground. Instinctively, you wrapped your free arm around his shoulders, reminding yourself that it was not appropriate to bury your face in his neck just to inhale his scent. The spot beneath your jaw where Adrian had marked you throbbed and grew hot, as if it itched beneath the skin. For one moment, desire washed over you, so powerful that it felt almost like an assault and you held your breath, biting the inside of your cheek. Then it passed, sharp relief following in its wake and you found yourself muttering a silent prayer that Adrian wouldn’t have noticed. In some ways, you were thankful he had stopped sharing your bed after moving you to the new room. But that didn’t mean that you didn’t miss him, especially now that the bitter ice between you two was thawing. 

You descended through the air before landing gently. “Just a while more. Keep your eyes closed until I ask you to open them. Please.” As if to emphasise that it was a request, not a command, his thumb gently traced over your knuckles. Warmth flashed through you, you turned in the direction of his voice, so close to your ear and there was nothing accidental about the press of your body against his. You heard, with no small amount of satisfaction, the soft quick breath he drew. 

You were deciding if this was another corridor or some new room that Adrian had brought you to when finally he stopped. His hand tightened around yours and you sensed that he was looking at you. Moments passed, sliding long and quiet through the in between. But before you could ask him what was the matter, there was a low hum and grind of gears turning and a strong gust of air that swept outwards past you, tumbling your hair softly about your shoulders. ‘No,’ you thought, mouth parting slightly in shock, the air in your lungs frozen as you forgot to breath. ‘It can’t be.’

“Open your eyes,” he whispered. You did. 

And a world of green just beyond your fingertips and well within reach filled your sight. Long grasses rustled and shivered in the fresh morning breeze, flowers swayed their petalled heads, the trees beckoned, their cool verdant shadows drawn long by the golden beams of a rising sun, the tall trunks and graceful arches of their great branches like the vaulted roof of a cathedral. Above them the sky gleamed, a broad river of shimmering silver and blue so fresh and vivid that it made your heart sing. It stretched as far as your eyes could see on either side; there were no walls, no barriers, nothing to fence the wide world in as it lay unfurled at your feet. For one brief moment you felt overwhelmed. Then you heard it, freedom’s siren song in the sea of sounds and everything inside you, every part of you surged in response. In that moment, you felt as if you could fly.

And though it seemed as if you would burst out of your skin if you didn’t move, you remained where you were. Large greedy inhales were all you permitted yourself as your eyes practically devoured the sight of the outside world so close to you. It took a few moments to rein yourself in. Then you turned to Adrian, aware that his grip on you had grown tighter. That perfect porcelain smooth mask was back on; his face would have been completely inscrutable, the light in his eyes cooler than night. But the rigid way he held himself perfectly still, the sharp hard lines of his shoulders and neck, all those gave him away. Beautiful as the morning was, he was still more beautiful. And even more terrified. 

At first you had thought this was yet another test he had put before you to see if you would attempt to escape. But now looking at him, you realised what this was, even if he didn’t. You saw the stakes involved. You weren’t the only one in a cage. And not all chess was played out on boards with pieces. Your movements were slow and sure, your gaze never left his as you wrapped your free arm around his waist, raised yourself up on your toes and brushed a lingering kiss to his cheek. Then you buried your face in his neck. “Thank you,” you whispered. You had never meant it more in your life than you did at this moment. 

His arm came up around your waist, pressed your joined hands against the small of your back, holding you against him. For the longest time, or maybe it had been only minutes, you never could be certain, both of you stood there, entwined. The warmth of the sun crept up your back but you didn’t move until Adrian did. He swallowed, parted his lips before closing them, speechless and you understood him so well because you didn’t have words to give shape to the feelings coursing inside you either. The soft gold of his eyes spoke volumes though. 

“Come on.” You tugged on his hand. “I’m hungry.” 

You were careful never to take the lead, not to run ahead of him—something which wasn’t that difficult to do because you knew that Adrian would rather cut his hand off than let go of yours. He reminded you of a wild creature, albeit one that was more ready to lash out as opposed to bolting should he feel something was awry. Not too long ago you had fantasised obsessively about such a moment of freedom, of what you would do should you have the chance to leave the castle behind. Ironically, running away or escaping was the last thing on your mind now. Some things were just more important. ‘And this is how you know it’s love.’ The thought was sombre, ran frighteningly deep, yet it was exhilarating and left more than a trace of confusion and frustration in its wake. At the end of the day, your goals remained unchanged. You still meant to kill Godfrey, return to your family, and do your duty. The prospect of that last one left a very bitter taste in your mouth and for the first time you wondered if you could do it. In the Clan, family came first, and that meant duty as well. Unlike a certain deranged blood-sucking ancestor, you would never betray your kin. But where then did that leave Adrian? He had wounded you deeply but was clearly trying to make amends. The last thing you wanted was to trample on him in your bid to do what was right. Could you ever go back to that point where he had agreed to be your lover and let you go once your time was up? Had that even been real in the first place or had the both of you been horribly naïve? You left those thoughts unanswered because you weren’t entirely certain you could cope with the truth, not presently because you were occupied with other matters. Besides, what had been done could not be undone. The future though, was being written now. 

The spot that Adrian chose was next to the stream, far away enough that the castle was obscured by the canopy of the forest—he knew it was the last thing you wanted to see—yet near enough that if he flew, both of you would be back in less than a minute. Sunlight and shadow dappled the area as you helped him spread out the blanket; from the long grasses tiny flowers like stars peeped out at you. Adrian kept close to you, as if he suspected you would vanish like the wind from under his nose. So you made sure to touch him, casual brushes that could be easily be chalked up as accidental ones as both of you emptied the basket of the food he had brought. There was a pot of honey, cold cuts of pheasant and venison, a sweet salad of wild vegetables, tomatoes and berries so bright they looked as if they had been on the bush just moments before. The bread, cheeses and thick slabs of butter were a surprise. In all likelihood, he had obtained this from a town and you knew just how much he disliked having to disguise his appearance. That he had done this touched you, and you made sure to show your appreciation by taking his plate and heaping it with food, slicing the still warm bread and giving it a generous coat of butter and honey. The long lingering caress of his hand over yours as he took it from you was definitely not an accident and there was something akin to heat in his gaze that brought the blood rising to your skin and made your heart beat faster.

The silence in which you ate was comfortable, you sitting cross-legged with your plate balanced on your knee, Adrian half an arm’s length away. A small group of three deer wandered nearby, aware of your presence but unbothered, although the fawn showed signs of nervousness. Hummingbirds danced over the stream, sipping from the wild unruly flowers sprouting at its banks. Idly, you glanced over at the chessboard, still wrapped in the silk shawl the magical wardrobe had conjured for you. 

“How long has it been?” The sweet gurgle of flowing water was loud after the question. There was no way he couldn’t know what you meant. The memory of Adrian’s face when you had first asked him that upon regaining consciousness came back to haunt you, those slight swift changes a precursor to the inhuman transformation that had terrified you. So you stared resolutely at your plate, dipping a berry in thick golden honey before popping it into your mouth, the sweetness a pleasing but insufficient distraction to the nerves thrumming low in your gut. 

“It’s been twenty-five days since you regained consciousness.”

Fuck. The world turned briefly red before the icy sensation of fear coupled with adrenaline began running down from your scalp into your spine. The humming nerves in your gut tightened to the point of pain. Before Godfrey had shown up, you had calculated that at best, you and Adrian would have about three and a half weeks before you had to leave. After the fight, you had been out for five days before finally coming to. If you were going to get home by the time you had promised your parents, you should have left the castle days ago. There was no way you were going to make it home in time. ‘If at all.’ The thought slipped in. You were aware that by your side, Adrian had stopped eating. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, his silence. 

“I see.” The calm you managed to interject into your voice deserved a loud round of applause. “If I write a letter explaining to my parents,” you discreetly left out the fiancé who would be waiting as well, “that I’ve been delayed, will you deliver it to one of our contact points for me?”

“Will they believe you?”

A wry smile twisted your lips. “I’ll tell them some version of the truth. And I have my seal with me. The writing will be mine. It will buy some time.” Of that you were certain. Your parents’ reactions though… You had been delayed before on missions, as had they. But this time another family would be involved, a Clan whose alliance your marriage was supposed to seal. You being late would count as unusual. And if you still didn’t arrive home by the new date, they would go out hunting for you and the trail you had left, while not obvious, was hardly impossible to find for skilled trackers. To make matters worse, your Clan would not be alone because your fiancé and his family could hardly stand by while you were missing. It was your worst nightmare.

“I will. Just let me know where I should deliver it to.” 

His ready acquiescence took you by surprise. Truth be told, you were half expecting him to turn you down flat. Your expression gave you completely away because Adrian frowned slightly. “Despite everything that has happened, I’m not entirely unreasonable,” he added. The delivery of that outrageous sentence was so impassive that you gaped, only realising that it was an ironic joke when he arched a brow at you, the corner of his mouth lifting in the slightest of smiles. Perhaps it was highly inappropriate, given what he had put you through but at least he knew, and was acknowledging it, in a way. Or it was the closest thing to an apology that he could produce, for now. A laugh, brief but sincere, spilled from you. 

“You have your moments,” you murmured. His hand covered yours, long cool elegant fingers sliding over the dips of your knuckles and then between your fingers. Regret pierced you then, loosened your restraints, made you bold. Before you lost your courage, you spoke. “You asked me once to promise that I wouldn’t go after Godfrey.” You curled your fingers around his. “I promise you I won’t go after him alone. I want you to come with me.” Setting the plate aside, you rose to your knees, faced him directly. Now it was your turn to surprise him, though that was an understatement. He looked completely, utterly stunned. “I should have asked you before. I’m asking you now. Help me, Adrian. Help me kill Godfrey.”


	27. Leap of Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot! Here's the update for the week; I'm so pleased I managed it. Thank you so much everyone, for the reviews, kudos and bookmarks for the last chapter! It was really nice to hear from you, and to those of you who regularly leave comments, I really can't thank you enough for the inspiration you give.❤️ As always, I hope this chapter entertains and if you were indeed entertained, please let me know! 
> 
> P.S: Sorry I had to delete this chapter then re-upload it. For some reason, it was just not showing up as having a new chapter.   
> ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Once upon a time, if you had not let your fears get the better of you—legitimate thought they were—and had simply asked Adrian to help you, you were one hundred percent certain that he would have immediately agreed. 

But at that present moment, and in the ones that slipped in, one after another, a relentless fall of silent invisible grains of time, it became suddenly crystal clear that though he would have said ‘yes’ in the past, Adrian was not going to supply that answer now. It took effort to squelch the frustration which simmered and threatened to boil over, took conscientious command on your part as you willed yourself not to drop his hand. You were not a petulant child, you would not stalk off as if you had just fought with a family member. You could not however, disguise the disappointment on your face, or the hurt when it suddenly occurred to you why and what had changed between now and then.

Still, you wanted to hear it from his lips. “Why don’t you want to help me?”

His thumb stroked across the crease of your palm, featherlight, and you felt it like the edge of a blade. “I do want to help you,” he managed, after more moments of hesitation; you could practically see him trying to gather his words. “But I don’t want you involved.” You nearly reared back at that and he tightened his grip, anchoring you to him, as if you would attempt to run at that moment, as if it would stop you from pulling away from him in other ways. “I’ll be able to handle him alone.”

When you spoke, it was through your teeth. “But you couldn’t. The fight between the two of you ended in a stalemate and either one of you could have perished. And given that Godfrey has Lilith’s heart to keep him alive,” your voice cracked, “he’ll win in the end. He can’t die.”

“He will if I cut off his head first. Or rip the heart he has out of his chest.” 

“That’s a very big ‘if’,” you said bitterly. “And the bigger the ‘if’, the more foolish it is to bank on that in battle. Both you and I have survived enough fights to know that. Tell me the real reason why you won’t let me help.”

Golden eyes turned to hard amber, flat as the line of his mouth. The groove between his brows deepened. “You know. “

“I’d like for you to say it. Maybe hearing the sheer irony of it will make you change your mind.”

Thin nostrils flared. “No.”

“Fine! Then I will.” You jabbed an angry finger in the space that lay between the both of you. “It’s because I almost died, isn’t it? You think I can’t take care of myself in this fight and that between the two of us, I’m clearly the weaker one.” And suddenly you felt smothered, as you had when you had been a child, the last one of three living in the shadow of your siblings. Everything you had done in your childhood years and early youth had been to compensate for their loss, so large was the gaping hole they left in your parents’ life, in your own heart. Eventually your mother and father realised what you were doing, because the risks you took on missions was enough to curdle even their blood. Hearing the words from them, that you oughtn’t to compare yourself with your brother and sister had given an immense release of sorts. But you had grown up making those comparisons all your life and what was happening now was pressing on that tender spot with bruising force. “I’m not good enough.” 

His free hand flashed out, so quickly that you almost didn’t see it, grabbed the front of your shirt and he pulled you down so that even if you had risen up on your knees, your face was level with his. The angle was awkward and you were forced to grasp his forearm, leaning on your clasped hands for balance. “That is not true. That is not what I said.” He was so close that his words feathered your lips, the black of his pupils threatening to swallow you whole. 

“You were thinking it,” you shot back, trying to prise his hand from your garment to no avail. 

“Do not assume that my thoughts are like yours. I won’t be blamed for insecurities that belong entirely to you.” Like a storm on a perfect summer’s day, those words came out of nowhere and slammed into you with such force that you actually gaped at him. He might as well have slapped you, given the horrible stinging sensation that wrapped itself around your gut and chest. Because it was true. But his delivery of it was brutal. 

“Since you are so keen to hear the truth, here it is then. I watched you battle Godfrey, I know your abilities. You would be an asset in the fight; I know that, logic dictates that I acknowledge it. But that’s not enough to control how I feel.” Something akin to desperation twisted his features. “It won’t be enough to stop me worrying about you and if you are there, I won’t be focusing on how to defeat him. I would be focused on how to protect you because yes, I watched you struggling on death’s doorstep and I can’t stop thinking about that. And that is what will get us killed. I will get us killed, do you understand?” That last part came out like a hiss. “So if anyone is not good enough, it would be me.” 

Any victory to be had at forcing the words from him was suddenly non-existant. Your lips were dry when you licked them. “That’s uncannily similar to what I thought when I didn’t ask you. When I hid Godfrey’s presence from you. I didn’t want you to be in danger. So I lied.”

The tight grip he had around your shirt loosened and you felt the coolness of his hand against your throat. “I know.” Delicate fingertips brushed the spot where the mark had once been and again you felt that throbbing heat under your skin, only it was more intense this time, almost anticipatory.

“I was wrong,” you added, trying to sound as forceful as possible. But your efforts were undone because instead of coming across as convincing, you sounded more breathless than anything else. 

“I know,” he repeated with unnerving softness. “But I think that I understand you more now, better than before.”

Your shoulders sagged and you sank back down to the ground. “It took me a great deal of time to get past that. You need to have faith in me, just as I do in you. I wish I had believed in you more then, and respected your right to choose.” And if you hadn’t traumatised him with your near-death experience, he wouldn’t be wrestling with those very real fears now. 

A gentle hand cupped your cheek as he lifted your face. “This isn’t your fault. This is mine.” 

“I did this, Adrian,” you said shortly, miserably and not without a great deal of frustration with yourself. “I’m a hunter; death is part of the life I was born into. There are very few of us who grow old and die asleep in our beds.” Even then you knew you were rambling out words that made little sense to him although they were accepted as iron-cast facts to your kind. You tried again. “You fought your father side by side with Trevor and Sypha. They’re your best friends. Why would fighting by my side against Godfrey be any different?”

The hand on your cheek flexed, as did a muscle at the side of Adrian’s face as he visibly clenched his jaw. For a moment his gaze dropped and you thought you had made a mistake, had said something wrong although you couldn’t figure out what erroneous thing you had said. Until he responded. “I care for Trevor and Sypha very much. They are my only friends, apart from you. I love them, but not in the same way as I love you.” 

The quiet certainty and absolute lack of hesitation when he said that was what ambushed you. You had expected some hesitance; hell, you would have bet that Adrian would never have said those words to you, at least in some form you could comprehend, unless you made him promises or said it first. So you froze, the words thundering in your ears along with the sound of your panicked heart. Because you couldn’t say them. You had made it a point never to say those words because love wasn’t part of the deal when it came to marriage or relationships. You would never say them, as far as you were concerned. You had assiduously avoided men who were serious in their intentions to court you because messy rejections were well, messy and not something you wanted to deal with. You were not going to wear your heart on your sleeve, thank you very much. You were going to keep yours firmly tucked under chainmail, boiled leather or whatever armour there was on hand. 

But even as you stared at him like a cornered deer would the hunter closing in, it occurred to you that you were not panicking because you didn’t love him or because you needed to reject his avowal of love. You would never do that. You didn’t want to do that. It was, you supposed with startling clarity, a little like throwing yourself from a bell tower and hoping that that huge haystack below would be enough to cushion your fall (it had been, hence your being alive presently). A leap of faith could be utterly hair-raising and your guts might feel as if they were being turned into ribbons but the relief which followed, there was nothing quite like it in the world. 

And at the moment, Adrian, who was turning slightly paler, was not certain if you were going to catch him. You surged forward in a rush, your mouth crashing into his with such haste that your teeth nicked his lip. But the soft groan which escaped him, which you eagerly swallowed, had little to do with pain. Your mouths opened, your tongues slid together and suddenly every part of you was on fire, twisting against the line of his body, fingers clutching at his back and pulling at his shirt as the world turned when he pushed you onto your back, pressing you down. Soft grass touched your hair, the scent of crushed flowers filled the air but it barely registered. 

You shouldn’t. You couldn’t give yourself to him, not while he was still keeping you under lock and key. But that foreboding warning was far away, swept to the distant horizon of your mind because Adrian’s tongue was in your mouth, one hand delved firmly in your hair as he racked you with bruising kisses that made you shudder against him, that had you gasping and groaning such that you could barely believe that it was you making those noises. One large hand squeezed your breast and you arched into his touch, keening. Your shirt was unceremoniously yanked out from your pants, his hand pushed beneath to grab and dig into bare skin as he dragged his fingers against your ribs, beneath the underside of your breasts. “Don’t move,” he whispered harshly against your mouth, shifting his hand to the centre of your chest. Then you felt it, something sharp cutting through the leather band and laces which bound it shut, the razor tip of the claw that Adrian used to cut your undergarments off. Then the warmth of his hand was on you, kneading your naked flesh and hot skin and this time both of you groaned together. Through the soft cotton of your shirt he mouthed roughly at your breasts, sucking your nipples into his mouth, the sensation of his tongue through the thin material almost too much because it went straight down to the burning apex of your thighs, magnified the hot clench of your body, so much so that it hurt. 

Your own hands had been busy, arms beneath his shirt, sweeping greedily over as much of him as possible while you traced the contours of his shoulders before following the arch of his spine, drawing soft growls from him each time you pressed your nails into his flesh. But it was not enough. “Please, Adrian, please. Now,” you muttered, pushing at his pants, sliding them down his hips, fingers digging into the wonderful muscled curve of his arse as you spread your legs desperately, grinding against him. You had missed him, all this time, missed his scent, his touch, his gentle words, the warmth and safety you had felt with him. You missed his hair and smiles. You missed the sex, both the fucking and lovemaking and you were so hungry, so very hungry and achingly empty and you didn’t realise just how much until now. 

Hands were hard on your hips, and you loved the strength in them even though there were times when you had feared it. The sound of cloth ripping had you sinking your teeth into your lip. Cool air and the softness of his skin and half-shed pants pressed against yours, newly bared to your knees. The sun filtered in from above, bright splashes against the deep emerald canopy, turned the darkness behind your lids to light and Adrian’s hair to silver-gold in your hands. Then you were crying out, arching up off the ground and into his body, his mouth catching yours in mid-flight as he thrust himself completely into you, driving in with a scorching burn that was equal parts pain and pleasure. It had been too long. 

Desperately you writhed together in the grass, half-dressed with your clothes still on, the heat from your bodies warming the morning air. His teeth scored your lip, sweet copper spilling on the tip of your tongue and how he drank that from you even as your nails drew blood while you scratched at his back, sobbing and drunk with need and please please please because he was as deep inside as he could go and you needed more. With a growl that wouldn’t have sounded out of place in a wolf pack, Adrian grabbed your leg, slid his hand to the back of your knee and pushed it up, shifting slightly between your legs. And the stars came down with his next thrust; he let you scream into his mouth as he pinned you to the ground, your hands above your head, unable to move as he fiercely ploughed into you again and again, melting your insides to liquid flame until finally, you came, your fingers clamped in a death grip around the hand which held yours, your body clenching tight around his in wave after wave that drove the breath from your lungs and silenced the cries which spilled from your throat. 

Your hands were released, almost numb from his grip and you knew there would be bruises; your body would be mapped by his hands and mouth, just as you had marked his. Then it was Adrian’s turn and you grabbed onto him, held him as tightly as you could when he rolled onto his back, his thrusts wilder and harder now, a rhythm you soaked up like you did the sound of his harsh desperate panting and moans when you clenched down on him, deliberately tightening yourself. Raising up on your arms, you kissed his opened mouth, kissed his neck and tasted the salt of his skin, met him thrust for thrust. Your fingers brushed over his heart, so strong behind the intricate cage of his ribs, and pressed against it so that you could feel him alive and well, half aware that you were trying to memorise it. His hand covered yours, your eyes met and Adrian came with a shout that pierced the morning breeze which came singing in over your sweat-soaked skin and clothes as you collapsed together in a tangled, satisfied heap. 

You only realised you had fallen asleep—or passed out—when Adrian woke you. The air held the heavy sultry heat of an impending storm you could see coming through the faint wind which stirred the treetops, parting them to reveal coal-grey clouds. “I love you,” he murmured, lips to your ear, his front pressed so closely to your back that you couldn’t quite tell where your bodies met. Swallowing thickly, you turned your face, kissed him gently and hoped that it would let him know what you couldn’t quite bring yourself to say yet. He seemed to understand, if that sweet expression on his face was anything to go by. 

“We still have to talk,” you said, apprehension drawing the words softly out of you. “I really think we can take Godfrey down if we work together.”

He didn’t reply. It wasn’t a ‘yes’, but at least it wasn’t a ‘no’ either, you consoled yourself. And most importantly, he didn’t pull away but stayed cocooned around you as you both remained outside for as long as you could until the first drops of rain drove you to pull on your clothes and stuff everything into the picnic basket before you made a run for the castle. The first hard sweep of the storm came just as you cleared the steps and it was with no small amount of regret that you watched the great doors swing shut. For a moment, you reckoned that you would rather be out there with the thunder and lightning. Away from being caged by four walls, away from difficult conversations that left you both worried yet hopeful. 

“Tomorrow.” He said it so suddenly that you almost missed it. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” The same apprehension you felt was mirrored briefly in his eyes before it vanished. And you had to steel yourself for the sound of the key turning in the lock when he walked you back to your room and left you there. What you did have to comfort yourself with was the shadow of his lips on yours because he kissed you again before leaving, hard and sweet enough to make you tiptoe and cling to him. That, and the fact that after he closed the door, you had to wait for several seconds before he could finally bring himself to put the key into the lock.

‘Baby steps,’ you reminded yourself. It would take some time to talk Adrian around, to reassure him. But you were certain you could, you had to have hope. In the meantime, you would write that letter to your parents and think of the safest contact point which you could direct Adrian to, somewhere sufficiently far from here but not so out of the way that it would take too long to reach them or arouse suspicion. 

Lunch and dinner were quiet affairs, compared to breakfast. But there was some degree of the comfortable intimacy which you had once enjoyed. You didn’t broach the subject of whether a bed would be shared that night, and neither did he. So to your relief, and partial disappointment, you slept alone that night, fingers pressed to your throat, aware that Adrian had made no attempt to bite you there and renew the bond mark. You were glad that he hadn’t, you would have stopped him if he had tried to and that would have ruined everything. A little space, as you both had once agreed, was necessary and the last thing you wanted to do was plunge headlong into something simply because you got carried away. The last thing either of you needed during the talk was for the other’s feelings to be crowding your head. 

You went to sleep that night wrapped in thick blankets and the memory of that morning, looking forward to the talk and resolving to be patient (but persistent). Unfortunately, you hadn’t reckoned with Godfrey. 

It was Adrian who found the man and woman.

He warned you when he came to the room to get you, told you what to expect. But it wasn’t enough. The world was wet and grey, remnants of yesterday’s storm still prowling about in the form of cold gusty winds. The rain must have ended before the vampire planted the bodies in front of the castle, you thought numbly. Wherever he had kept them was dry though. The only wetness on the bodies was the blood which ran from their mouths and down their legs where the stakes impaled them. He had turned the corpses towards the door, and it had been their faces which you had noticed first, vivid terror frozen on them in death masks.

That, and the slender silver chain with the heart-shaped locket wrapped around the woman’s wrist. Like the dead locks of her hair, it dangled in the wind.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Bare Arms of Trees fanart: Chapter 16 'Blood of my Blood'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24320575) by [Oas1s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oas1s/pseuds/Oas1s)




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